


Midnight

by xoxoxo



Category: The Book of Mormon - Ambiguous Fandom, The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Assault, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, It Knows What it Is, It's Hurt and Comfort with a Touch of Fluff, M/M, More or Less Canon with Artistic Liberties, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Assault, Slow Burn, Somewhat Graphic Violence, THE BOOK THING
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:40:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 57,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22471216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xoxoxo/pseuds/xoxoxo
Summary: In retaliation for his attempt to convert the General to Mormonism, Kevin Price was brutally assaulted.Now, with a newly realized but intense fear of the nightmares that plague him every time he closes his eyes, Kevin is resolved to stay awake through the long Ugandan nights. He steals small naps when he can and even on his best days, the days when he can bring himself to pray at all, he prays only that he’ll eventually find peace. His life becomes marked by a series of midnights, spent in secret with an unlikely companion who, with his own set of demons, hasn’t slept through a night in years.Or: A slow burn (a close up look at the 2ish weeks following the attack) in which Kevin heals from a brutal assault physically (while doing a lot of crying and needing a lot of hugs), starts to heal mentally, and falls for the other Mormon boy.
Relationships: Elder "Connor" McKinley/Kevin Price
Comments: 163
Kudos: 109





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: There's graphic violence in chapter one, which can be skipped without sacrificing the integrity of the rest. See tags for other trigger warnings.

“What are you doing?!” His voice came out as a kind of panicked cry, a sound that Kevin Price was unfamiliar with. He could feel his heart pounding wildly in his chest as the panic rose. There were three men, two holding what looked kind of like police batons, some sort of metal piping. They wasted no time closing in on him. “No..." He backed away, his breathing uneven.

His eyes darted around, seeking escape, but the camp was unfamiliar to him. He’d had an easy enough time getting in, but as the men circled him, he knew without doubt that getting out wouldn’t be as straightforward, even if he could make a run for it. He swallowed, his throat dry as he pushed back the panic. This wouldn’t be the end for him. This couldn’t be the end – God had plans for him. He wondered if he looked as scared as he felt.

“Easy,” one of them, a big man just behind the general, said, a smile playing at his lips. Kevin took another step backward and came up against the second man, who grabbed his shoulders. He moved quickly, snaking away from the hold, keeping his eyes leveled on the general. He still couldn’t piece together exactly what was to happen to him.

The first blow came easily and practiced, a fist to his stomach that knocked the wind out of him and sent a shooting pain through his core. From that moment, things neither slowed down nor let up. Kevin didn't have time to process one hit before the next landed, over and over. Sheer brutality was their driving force as, with every blow, Kevin grew weaker. With time, he began losing his sight, his focus. His body landed with a crack against the metal as he was flung into a table. He gasped for air as blackness threatened his vision. He began to pray, a broken, frantic prayer. His head was yanked upward then smashed down into the table. His vision swam. His breath came out in shallow sputters and he gasped desperately, all thought immediately halting.

The men were merciless in their beating, and eventually all he could do was take it. To be certain of his submission, the men delivered several more blows before finally letting his weight drop fully to the table. He caught himself on his forearms, willing his eyes to focus on the metal before him. It was stained red.

His arms were drawn out, the table cool against his cheek. His legs were kicked out from under him, throwing him off balance.

Without warning, a weight fell heavily on the small of his back; he tried to pull away, but another man held his wrists tight. His feet fought uselessly against the ground. Again, the weight landed, sending a shooting pain through his entire body, causing him to scream outright. 

_Please_ , he begged, _please don’t let this happen. Please protect me._

“Stop,” he choked, gasping. He couldn’t make sense of what was being done.

He coughed again and felt the liquid rise in his throat. He could smell his own blood; he could taste it.

He threw his weight backward, squirming wildly. The men held tight at his shoulders and wrists, keeping him pinned against the table. He felt fingers being woven through his hair, tightening painfully at his scalp.

His head was drawn back once more and slammed into the table. This time, he didn’t fight back. He couldn't.

“Stop,” he whispered again, blood dripping from his lips with the word. “Please.” He gasped for breath, pulling futilely against the men at his wrists. And then miraculously and without a word, his hands were released.

His arms moved immediately to his stomach, his fingers clutching at his sides, offering what little protection he could against the edge of the table. Was it over? Were they done?

He felt the man behind him, the general, who had been the main force in delivering the attack, untuck the back of his shirt. Kevin froze, a new panic rising. The general’s hand brushed against Kevin’s bare back under his shirt, up his spine. He felt as the man’s hand moved around his side to his belly, just above where Kevin’s own arms held himself tightly.

The general’s hand found Kevin’s and covered it, guiding it downward. When it rested on his belt buckle, the general uttered two single words that Kevin recognized immediately for what they meant.

“Unbuckle it,” he said, removing his hands from Kevin’s.

The color drained from his skin as Kevin closed his eyes and swallowed back the blood pooling in his mouth.

He knew his best shot at survival was to do as he was told, and in the depths of his mind he understood that no matter what he did, this was going to happen.

 _Forgive me_. Silent tears ran down his face as his hands, shaking uncontrollably, fumbled with his belt buckle. He tried to comply. He didn’t know what that would mean to God, to his family. How disappointed the Church would be. He closed his eyes, willing his shaking fingers to work.

He’d done this a million times, and yet he knew this was different. His fingers desperately worked at the metal, but everything hurt, and the buckle wasn't giving.

“Now,” the general said, more firmly, pulling him from his prayers and sending a panicked desperation though him.

“I’m t-trying.” His voice came out as a whisper, a plea to give him more time. "I'm trying," he gasped again, desperation in his voice, his fumbling growing frantic. Without warning, his head was once more slammed into the table. The world momentarily went black. A guttural sound escaped him and his hands instinctively went back to the table to help brace himself for more. Immeasurable pain coursed through his body and a groan escaped him as his muscles recoiled. He fought to push himself up, but the men pulled his hands from under him. He fell face forward, his hands fisting as he gritted his teeth and cried out.

The general quickly and mercilessly unbuckled his belt, pulling his pants down to his knees.

Kevin could do nothing but grip the edge of the table, steeling himself for what he knew was coming. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve this, but understood innately that this was God’s plan for him.

“Here,” he heard from the man at his head, fingers still laced tightly through his hair. The pain that followed was unmatched, a pain he never could have expected nor prepared himself for. What started as fingers inside of him changed to something else... stretching and ripping his body apart. He could hear himself screaming but he could neither control it nor stop it. His retaliating muscles were expected, and more importantly, outmatched.

Once more, he tried to find his balance and once more, his legs were kicked out. He could tell with the ease with which they handled him that his fight was lost.

“Easy,” the man at his head laughed the word, impossibly tightening his grip at his scalp.

In a sick way, he quickly learned to anticipate what was coming before it happened, but it didn’t help the pain. It was a pattern of stretching, pushing deeper, and ripping. Every muscle and nerve was on fire and still deeper and further the general pushed. He screamed out in anguish, his toes curling and fighting to find ground, his eyes rolling back and his spine arching desperately for reprieve. He ground his teeth, hard, and felt warm blood flowing in his mouth. Before he could recuperate, again the general pushed the object inside him further.

His body shook uncontrollably with the inexorable pain that was being dealt. He tried to fight. Tried to escape. To do anything.

As it continued, he gasped and sputtered, his head held tightly to the table. The men went about their business in a casual, detached way; his pain, whatever defense his body reflexively put up, ignored. He was long past fighting and could barely find it in him to continue screaming, but he heard himself distantly and knew that he was.

Over and over, breaking him into pieces. Undoing him. Breathing was painful. Any movement of any muscle, from his brow to his toes, seemed to cause a tidal wave of agony all the way through his body. His palms were slippery against the table, and the men holding him were at ease as his strength continued to wane.

“Good boy,” he heard the general say, almost reverently. “Almost there.”

He wasn’t thinking about the past or the future, about what it meant or why it was happening. He could think of only the pain and survival.

The fingers at his head wound themselves tighter still, repositioning the stronghold grip that pressed his face into the table. He lay motionless, steeling himself against the pain that was certain to come. And when it did, there was nothing more he could do than, with every muscle of his body screaming in agony, endure it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: all-american-prophet
> 
> please leave me comments I <3 them.


	2. Chapter 2

Connor closed his eyes, taking a slow, deliberate breath. He looked sidelong at the clock, although he didn’t need to. He knew it was past midnight, and he knew that because he’d looked at the clock upward of 100 times so far.

The other elders were fast asleep, as was the rest of Uganda, but not Connor. It was his cross to bear, making sure that the elders in his district were safe and healthy and in this moment, for the first time since he’d come to Uganda, he couldn’t reliably be sure that either of those things were true.

He’d known from the very moment he met Elder Price that he was singularly driven to make God proud; that he was tightly wound and passionate beyond reason, and yet still he pushed him. He couldn’t shake the nagging guilt at their collective dismissal of him, the bright eyed, happy but inherently anxious man who had built his entire world around serving God. He’d been caught up in the moment, a mixture of excitement and hope for the first time since the beginning of this mission at the prospect of Elder Cunningham breaking through to this group.

He replayed the scene back in his head, his focus on what he said, where he went wrong. Why he rejected him. Elder Price was fine. He’d come back tired, hungry, needing a shower… any moment he’d walk in that door, and Connor rehearsed his apology. The Mormons who choose to serve missions are all varying degrees of committed to the church, and to push those buttons was cruel, especially for someone like Elder Price.

He sat up in his bed and glanced at his shoes. He didn’t know where to begin looking, even if he could. Should he wake everyone, start a search party? No. He should give it more time. Elder Price was smart, mentally and physically strong. He exuded power beyond his age; he may have lacked some life experience, but he made up for that in enthusiasm. He’d be fine.

Connor forced himself to lay back down, but he still didn’t sleep. He stared at the ceiling, he looked at the clock. He rehearsed what he’d say. He thought about cooking something in preparation for the elder’s return. Considered if he should call for help. If he should report Elder Price missing. If he should wake the others. What should he cook, what would Elder Price like to eat? Considered ironing his shirts, rolled to one side and stared out the closed window. Rolled to the other side and stared at the closed door. Should he just write a letter and put it on Elder Price’s pillow? Put some food in–

He heard something. He was almost certain he did. He bolted upright and heard it again, a soft tapping at the front door. He felt instantly cold, his muscles tight. He was frozen; he’d been here 3 months, he knew the dangers of Uganda from what he’d been told but he hadn’t really directly encountered anything. Elder Price had a key. Maybe he’d just lost it. Perhaps it was Elder Price.

Again, the quiet knock, but a little louder. Not loud enough to wake the other elders, but louder, and somewhat more urgent.

“Hello?” He heard a female voice. He shook his head to clear it, stood and put on his clothes. He covered the ground between his bedroom and the front door quickly. He grabbed the baseball bat that one of the others had brought. Until this moment, he’d detested its presence in the house, a weapon only, a sign of the danger they could face at any time. Now he held it tightly and took a deep breath. This was why he was the district leader. He needed to deal with this, even if his instincts told him this wasn’t his battle.

With an exhale, he opened the door. His eyes narrowed in confusion. It was one of the villagers, he wasn’t sure of her name. He’d seen her before when they’d gone to town, but never spoken to her.

“I’m sorry to bother you, Elder,” she said, her accent thick. She looked scared and tired.

“It’s okay,” he said, setting the bat down and opening the door wider. “Is it – is it Elder Price?” His heart was pounding wildly in his chest. He didn’t want to know the answer to that. Suddenly all of his thoughts went darker – was he injured? Kidnapped? Dead?

“I – I think so,” she responded. Connor swallowed, nodding his head. “Please follow me,” she said, taking a step back into the darkness. “He is this way.”

“Okay,” Connor said, “Okay. Let me just grab my shoes.” The woman nodded as he retreated to his room. His fingers shook as he quickly put his shoes on. He glanced around his room. Should he tell someone? He wasn’t an idiot, he knew the risks involved in leaving the apartment, in the pitch-black night, without anyone knowing.

He scribbled a note and left it on the counter on his way out.

✥ ✥ ✥

The two walked in silence for what felt like an eternity before Elder McKinley spoke. “What is it?” he blurted, not sure if she’d know his meaning, but knowing he needed to break the silence.

“We found your friend,” she responded quietly, pushing forward. “My sister - she asked me to come get you.”

“How much further?” He was cautious with his words, trying hard not to let his panic overwhelm her. They’d reached the heart of the village, which wasn’t all that far from the mission house.

“Not long now,” she said, guiding him through the narrow walkways between the huts. They came to the main road and she turned. He followed and immediately visible around the corner was a hunched figure. It wasn’t Elder Price, he thought, trying to get a good look. As they got closer, though, he recognized what he was seeing – the hunched figure was a woman, and in front of her, splayed next to the road, was a man in the familiar white and black uniform.

Elder McKinley moved into a sprint to cover the remaining distance, falling to his knees next to the woman.

“Elder Price!” he said, keeping his voice low. The woman looked at him and shook her head. Connor’s hand hovered the man, unsure of what to do.

“Wake up, buddy,” he whispered, his voice frantic.

“He isn’t dead,” she said softly. “Look.” She pointed to his chest, which rose and fell in shallow spurts.

Connor swallowed, moving to the front of him. “Elder,” he whispered again. “It’s time to wake up.” He put his hand on the back of his companion’s head, and Elder Price flinched. He let out of a breath of relief that he didn’t know he was holding and looked the man over quickly.

He was a mess, and Connor wasn’t sure what exactly he was looking for. Elder Price was covered in a combination of sweat, dirt, tears, and… blood? Connor searched for signs of injury, knowing that they existed but not sure in what context. His temple was bruised and swollen, there was blood on his neck and jaw. His knuckles were raw, his arms circled his torso protectively.

“Alright, buddy,” he said, looking back at the women. “You’re alright. Do you have water?” he asked, eyes darting between the two. His hand moved to Elder Price’s, wrapping his fingers around it. Elder Price didn’t respond. “The doctor?” The nearest hospital was a several-hour drive, but Connor remembered there was a doctor in the village – he wasn’t sure how much help he’d be, only that he needed help.

The older woman nodded and the two disappeared into the darkness.

Connor, on his knees next to the brand-new missionary – who he was responsible for protecting – looked over the lifeless body once more. He would not cry. He would not panic. Right now, neither of those things would help.

“Elder Price,” he whispered, pushing the man’s matted hair off of his face. The wound on his head looked considerably worse now that it was more visible. “It’s time to wake up.” Elder Price stirred, his body shaking slightly as he curled in on himself. His hands clutched at his sides.

“Come on, buddy,” Connor said, letting his fingers make contact with Elder Price’s back. He still couldn’t pinpoint what injuries he had, only that he had them. Something was very wrong. Elder Price swallowed and coughed softly, a pained grimace on his face with the action.

“You’re alright, you’re okay… time to wake up,” he said again, very cautiously rubbing between his shoulders. Elder Price arched his back, the action a clear warning for Connor to stop. He pulled his hand away, instead reaching for the elder’s hand once more.

Elder Price didn’t pull back on that, and slowly curled his own fingers around Connor’s.

“Can you open your eyes? The doctor is on his way.” Connor, fighting hard to keep his own anxiety at bay, continued surveying the man in front of him, trying in vain to get an idea of what injuries were there.

Elder Price’s eyes opened slowly, the blues not visible in the moonlight. It took him a moment to focus, his eyebrows furrowed in discomfort. “Hey,” Connor said, smiling softly. “You’re safe now,” he whispered, knowing it wasn’t entirely true.

Elder Price began moving, a groan escaping him as he pushed his arm under him. He was trying to sit up, Connor immediately realized.

“Here, let me help you,” he said, his hands going to Elder Price’s torso to help steady him. Elder Price gasped, his teeth grinding together, but he didn’t push Connor away.

Once upright, it was immediately clear just how uncomfortable Elder Price was. Connor knelt next to him as Elder Price clutched his stomach, continuously adjusting and readjusting his posture to alleviate whatever was going on inside him. Connor counted the seconds, which turned to minutes, which felt like an eternity, waiting for help to arrive. He scanned left and right, down the road. Should he try to get a car? Get him to a hospital? Wait on the doctor?

When he did find the courage to glance at Elder Price, the silent tears streaming down his face rattled him.

“Elder Price,” he said, his voice a gasp. He didn’t know what to do. What to offer this man, who was going through something that he couldn’t begin to comprehend. So they just sat there and waited, Elder Price’s shaking frame supported by Connor, silent except for the occasional groan let out when the pain got too bad to handle.

✥ ✥ ✥

The doctor knelt over Elder Price, who still clutched his stomach tightly. He started with his head, on the side of that road, lit only by moonlight, with a small bag of medical supplies next to him.

Connor felt slightly better now that Elder Price had drank water, but the man still shook relentlessly and sobbed silently without pause.

The doctor pushed his hair to the side, gently probing at the wound at his temple. As he did, he absently asked Elder Price questions. Basic questions, what’s your name, how old are you, why are you in Uganda. Elder Price was quiet and slow to answer, but produced responses that at least indicated he was comprehending what was being asked.

“Okay,” the doctor said, once satisfied that there was no head or neck injury that would make moving Elder Price especially dangerous. His expression was certainly one of concern, but Connor didn’t believe the doctor, at that point, knew much more than anyone else. “We should get you inside,” he stated, rising. “Can you walk?”

Red-rimmed blue eyes looked up at the doctor, and Connor could feel Elder Price’s body tense. “I don’t know,” he said, his voice hoarse. The two men helped Elder Price to his feet and immediately it was evident that walking wasn’t an option. With one on either side of him, they half carried-half dragged him through the narrow alley and into a makeshift medical hut that the villagers kept stocked with supplies for emergencies. Elder Price, to his credit, did his best to keep quiet. Connor couldn’t stomach looking at his face as he was moved, but could feel the deep sobs that reverberated through his body.

Once in the hut they helped him onto the small cot-like table. He rolled to his side, his hands once more finding his stomach, clutching himself together.

“Give us a minute?” the doctor asked, his eyes finding Connor’s. Connor looked at Elder Price, who’s eyes were clamped shut, and back to the doctor. He was grateful for the reprieve, but conflicted. Ultimately, without a sign from Elder Price one way or another, he nodded and walked out of the hut.

The sun was rising now, the village still fast asleep but light starting to come through the night sky. Connor took a shaky breath and leaned himself against the wall. The weight of the night started to crash upon him. His head fell into his hands and he his own shoulders shook.

He fought to control his breathing, to pull himself together. Eventually he would need to go back in there, and he didn’t want to. He wanted to wake up. For Elder Price to be okay, for this night never to have happened. For his friend and companion to feel better. He shook his head, forcing the thoughts back.

From inside the hut, he heard Elder Price cry out. He closed his eyes and took deep, controlled breaths, trying in vain to tune out the sounds.

He was on the verge of forcing his way back in when the door opened and the doctor emerged. He wore gloves that were stained red. Connor felt like passing out.

“He’s asking for you,” the doctor said, the last words he expected to hear. Still, he nodded decisively and turned to enter the hut, when the doctor put out a restraining hand. “Before you go in, I think I need to warn you – your friend…” The doctor paused. “He’s hurt. We’ve seen this before, the general, he…” He sighed and shook his head. “I’ll need your help in there, but it won’t be easy. He’s in a lot of pain.”

“Ok,” Connor said, “I can… whatever you need.”

The doctor nodded without further explanation and followed Connor back into the hut.

Elder Price was ghost pale, now visible with the dawn, blood and sweat caking his hair and face. His pants had been discarded and he lay on his side under a thin white blanket, also stained red. Connor’s stomach turned over. On the side table, there were bottles of alcohols and medication, different tools, bandages. Connor moved to the opposite side of the table, the side Elder Price faced, pulled over a stool, and sat.

“He won’t drink it,” the doctor said, inclining his head toward the alcohol. “I have nothing else for the pain here, but he’s welcome to it. It’ll help.”

Connor looked at the bottles of alcohol, unsure of what was what and what would help, but understanding implicitly that Elder Price wasn’t the type of Mormon to break the rules, even if it would help. There was a half full cup of water next to the bottles.

The doctor sat down on the opposite side of the table and moved the blanket, and Connor grabbed Elder Price’s hand. Elder Price squeezed it tightly, unable to or perhaps unwilling to meet Connor’s eyes.

“I’ll go as quickly as I safety can,” the doctor said, “but we need to get it out.” Connor wasn’t sure who he was talking to specifically, but Elder Price nodded, his body tense and his tears soaking the pillow under his head.

It was in that moment that Connor developed some semblance of understanding. He didn’t know the details and he didn’t need to know them, but Elder Price had been through something, and it wasn’t over yet.

Elder Price sucked in a shaking breath as the doctor began. His body recoiled as he kicked out uselessly, both of his hands clutching Connor’s arm tightly. He screamed, and Connor rose from the stool, moving closer as he was pulled in. Elder Price buried his head against Connor’s chest, muffling his screams and clutching him tighter. As the doctor worked to remove whatever was inside of him, Elder Price jerked wildly, fighting to find relief from the agonizing procedure.

The doctor paused and went to the cabinets, sparing a cursory but perhaps meaningful glance at the bottles. Elder Price released Connor, his chest rising and falling too quickly. His toes curled and his hands clasped the side of the table; he straightened his body and turned it and curled it in, tears falling freely.

Connor grabbed the first bottle of alcohol he could reach and brought it to the elder’s lips. “It’s time to drink some, buddy,” he said, placing his hand carefully on the back of Elder Price’s head. He made eye contact with the doctor, who nodded in encouragement, waiting.

“N-no,” Elder Price said. “I c-can’t,” he cried, wiping his face with the back of his hand.

Connor nodded and leaned over, “Elder Price,” he said softly. “It’s okay. He’ll forgive you, there isn’t a single doubt in my mind.” He paused, gauging his reaction. “You’re going to be okay, but right now, it’s time to take a drink.”

Elder Price reluctantly opened his mouth, nodding through his cries, and allowed Connor to help him get the liquid his mouth. With impossibly deeper sobs, he swallowed. His body shook relentlessly as he opened his mouth for more, and Connor complied, helping him every step of the way.

Elder Price coughed as he quickly drank more, and when Connor finally pulled the bottle away, they exchanged a brief look before Elder Price closed his eyes. His trembling seemed to calm some, but it did not go away, and when the doctor took up his position at the elder’s back once more, his agonized screams continued.

✥ ✥ ✥

They rode in silence back to the mission house. Elder Price lay across the back seat of the borrowed car, his body still and pale, dark bags under his eyes visible even with the grime of the day covering every inch of his body. It was close to noon, and Connor knew the other elders would be out of the house, which was just as well. He wasn’t sure how to tackle the events, but he knew that having extra time to figure it out could only be a blessing. He turned and looked at the lifeless figure in the back seat, wearing only a make-shift hospital gown over his shirt and the black socks.

“Lots of water,” the doctor said as he stopped the car in front of the mission house. Connor nodded. “Berries at first, when he’s ready.” He gave more instruction to Connor about stitches, broken ribs, concussions, water, sleep, walking, eating, medicine, alcohol. The doctor helped him maneuver Elder Price to his bed and stopped at the door before leaving.

“You should alert your people,” he said. “I… did the best I could, but…”

Connor nodded.

“I’ll come tomorrow to check on him.”

“Thank you,” Connor said. He closed the door after the doctor left. He checked through the house to be sure it was empty. When he was certain no one was home, he went to Elder Price’s bedside. He wasn’t positive if it was the alcohol, the weight of the day, or what… but he slept now, dirty and blood soaked in that borrowed gown, but it was sleep nonetheless. Connor was grateful for that.

Connor put together a bag of ice, wrapped it in a towel. He pushed aside Elder Price’s hair and set the ice on his temple. He put the thin blanket over him and watched him breathe, just for a moment.

“Okay, buddy,” he said. He walked to the empty living room and collapsed onto the ground. And then, uncontrollably, he sobbed.


	3. Chapter 3

By the time the others began arriving back to the apartment, Connor felt resolved (if still somewhat nervous) about his plan. He used ‘plan’ loosely, because it was truthfully more of a draft of an idea that could really benefit from some revisions and would rely heavily on an entire group of men who had been specifically conditioned _not_ to mind their own business... to mind their own business.

Elder Price had slept hard for the last several hours, Connor peeking in his room occasionally ( _frequently_ ) to make sure he was as comfortable as he could be, that he was sleeping, that he wasn’t too cold, that he wasn’t too hot, that the ice was in place, that he was breathing. He developed a sort of checklist, dutifully monitoring everything he could think to monitor. 

Connor felt especially responsible for him, a combination side effect of his guilt at what went down and his responsibility as district leader which until now, he’d been proud to take on but had seriously underestimated its associated stressors. 

Sometime in the middle of the day, Elder Price’s body had finally relaxed. His hands still clutched his pillow tightly, knuckles white from exertion, but a fair amount of the tension had left his neck and shoulders and his breathing had leveled out. Connor had, multiple times, brought in a wet washcloth to start cleaning him up before scolding himself for the careless idea. The doctor had stressed sleep as Elder Price’s best friend right now and it would be idiotic of Connor to risk waking him.

And so he’d spent the day occupying himself with menial tasks: he showered, he cleaned the house. He spent an alarming amount of time counting Elder Price’s breaths, gauging if he was doing okay by trying to match his own breaths in pace. He’d retreat back to the shared rooms of the apartment, finding more to clean. He organized the pantry, he cleaned the bathroom. He ironed all of his shirts and polished his shoes. 

More than once he picked up the phone and started dialing the mission president, but inevitably put the receiver down before the call was completed. 

He was certain that he was being challenged by God, and was, for the first time in his life, wholly and completely unsure of his path. He’d give it one day, he decided, after hanging up the phone for the fifth time. If Elder Price didn’t wake up by tomorrow morning, he’d call. If he did, he could help make that decision.

This, of course, went against everything that Connor had learned as district leader and as a missionary, but in that moment, inexplicably, his priorities had rearranged themselves. This was a choice that Elder Price should be involved in; when and how what happened to him would be disclosed to the other missionaries, the mission president, or anyone else. Connor wasn’t necessarily _okay_ with the idea of the church dismissing him from his mission for failing to report this, but he felt at peace with the possibility, believing in his soul that this was what was right and that God would be proud of him. If he was being honest with himself, there was the hope that Elder Price might be proud of him, too.

With the apartment impeccably organized, Elder Price still sleeping soundly, and Connor clean and changed, he collapsed into the small sofa and waited.

He focused on what he’d say. He stared, hands folded in his lap, at the door, and rehearsed:

There would be a temporary shift in companion pairings. Elder Price was not feeling well, but that didn’t need to impact the other elders serving God. Elder Thomas would, for the next few days, serve with Elder Cunningham, fulfilling all duties of mission companion, and Connor would serve with Elder Price instead.

Connor was reasonably sure he could sell this, and once Elder Price was on his feet, they could resume their missions as normal.

The elders arrived at various times during the evening, two by two, excited and exhausted by their assignments from the day. Connor asked questions and smiled and attended to their stories as he did nightly, but was more silent than normal. When the question of Elder Price finally did come up, he was ready.

He spoke to the missionaries of his district concisely, a practiced speech that he was well prepared to give. Elder Thomas and Elder Cunningham were really the only people affected by the temporary assignment swap, and Elder Thomas was familiar enough with Connor and his leadership style that he accepted the change without question. Elder Cunningham, on the other hand, pried further, perhaps a shared guilt plaguing him.

“Is Elder Price okay?” he asked, pulling Connor aside shortly after the elders began retiring to their rooms for their nightly planning sessions.

“Yes,” Connor responded, “he’s just not feeling well. I just really would like to keep an eye on him. It’s my… duty, you know? As the district leader, I have to decide if and when to call the mission president, if he needs medical attention, if he can go on assignments… It’s just easier if I’m his companion for the time being.” He spoke quickly as he over-explained, but he couldn’t stop himself. “And also,” he added nervously, “mission rules state that you need to be with your companion at all times… with Elder Price under the weather, that would leave you out there alone. I know you’ve got it under control, but it can be dangerous and I do think you should have someone you can count on, and right now, that just isn’t Elder Price.” _Stop, Connor_. He forced a smile, hoping for casual but pretty sure he was landing closer to chaotic.

Elder Cunningham’s face was growing more wary, not less. _Just stop_. “So um, if you could grab some clothes for the next few days, you can take my bed, and I’ll take yours for now?” Connor scratched his head, once more shooting for casual and once more not sticking the landing. 

Elder Cunningham nodded, apprehension on his face, as he inched toward his old room. He kept an eye on Connor, seemingly waiting for him to say more. “Oh, uh, Elder Cunningham?” The elder stopped. “Just… try to keep quiet, keep the lights off. Elder Price is resting, the doctor did mention rest was critical to get him healthy, okay?” 

Not a lie. Hopefully that would be enough to keep him from seeing – from _really_ seeing Elder Price.

Elder Cunningham, while not without his own set of issues, emerged from the room not a minute later with his bag. He smiled at Connor, perhaps tighter than genuine, and did as he was asked. For all his initial doubts about Arnold Cunningham, he seemed like a good man.

✥ ✥ ✥

Covered in sweat and heart racing, Connor was jolted awake. His nightmare was… off. Immediately, he scanned the room for Elder Price, disoriented from sleeping in a borrowed chair in a borrowed space. Elder Price lay in the same place he’d been, his breathing steady but shallow. Connor turned the light on and reached for his cup of water, still rattled by the images his brain conjured. He was well accustomed to having hell dreams and other nightmares, but _he’d_ always been the subject of them. 

He took a slow drink and glanced at the clock. It was past midnight, and Connor knew he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep again. For years he’d practiced this cycle. Stealing naps where he could, sleeping just long enough to be sucked into the darkest corners of his mind. His body had grown accustomed to operating on little sleep and he’d trained himself to wake up when the nightmares came on, but sometimes, like the case of this evening, exhaustion got the better of him and he slept just a little too hard. Getting through the night was a challenge he faced constantly. He hated this time of day.

He set the cup down on the nightstand, inadvertently knocking over a small figurine in the process. He picked it up and regarded it, smiling and shaking his head, pulled immediately from the darkness. It seemed to be the only personal effect in Elder Price’s overly sterile room, the little creature slightly softening Connor’s perception of him. He spared a glance around, trying to get to know Elder Price through his belongings. Many of his things had been stolen, but Connor didn’t think that alone was the reason for the empty, tidy space. 

None of his things were visible to Connor besides the item he held, and he wagered if he looked in the drawers, each article of clothing would be meticulously folded, not an item out of place. Shoes shined spotless. Socks matched, organized by shade of black. In the nightstand would be a well-loved bible and nothing more. 

A soft groan from Elder Price pulled him from his thoughts, and he replaced the small item where it had sat. Elder Price’s breathing was picking up; Connor so acutely familiar with the pace by now that he was instantly alerted to the shift. Tension returned to Elder Price’s body as his fingers grasped the pillow tighter, his face contorting into a grimace as he flinched and sucked in a breath. 

Connor recognized the signs of the nightmare easily as Elder Price stirred, gasping in his sleep. He moved to the edge of the bed next to Elder Price’s now rigid body and turned up the light. “Easy, buddy,” he said softly, cautiously placing his hand on the elder’s shoulder. His hand moved gently over Elder Price’s shirt, trying not to startle him awake, but eager to pull him from the nightmare. “You’re alright,” he said as Elder Price suddenly awoke, “it’s just a dream.”

Elder Price, barely conscious, tested his muscles. His fingers, wrapped tightly around the pillow, loosened. His body, which had been curled and tense under the blanket, now straightened slowly. His toes uncurled and his feet stretched. Connor pulled back and watched this cautiously, waiting to see those eyes open, or perhaps for Elder Price to settle back into his sleep.

“Hey there,” Connor said quietly. The apartment was solid structurally, especially for Kitguli, but pushing the limits of the walls would be careless. Slowly, Elder Price opened his eyes, meeting Connor’s gaze. It took him a moment to focus and he blinked in a mixture of confusion and pain. Connor’s thoughts, in the countless moments lost in those blue eyes, ran wild.

“The doctor, Gotswana, said he’ll come to check on you tomorrow,” was the first thing Connor thought to say. It wasn’t the most graceful statement, and it was incredibly low on the list of things he wanted to tell Elder Price, but he’d learned to be careful with how he spoke, especially in tense situations. Don’t get too personal, don’t push any boundaries.

He heard a nearly inaudible sound, a hoarse whisper, from Elder Price. He was pretty certain he’d spoken, but had no idea what he’d said. 

He inclined his head to the side. “I’m sorry?”

When he spoke again, the words were coarse and pained but somewhat more defined. “Do you... have water?”

Connor nodded and stood. “Of course,” he said. He walked to the kitchen, the apartment dark and silent save for the ticking of the clock in the corner. He took a moment to gather himself, shaking his head to clear it. He pulled in a deep breath. “Cups,” he said out loud, doing a 360 in the middle of the room.

Elder Price’s eyes were closed when Connor returned, his head pushed into the pillow, his fingers once more clenching it tightly.

He was incredibly pale, the sleep having had a limited effect on the dark circles under his eyes. In spite of his current state, Connor knew that he was strong. He watched his chest rise and fall with each labored breath, the slight tremble accompanying every movement an unneeded reminder of what he’d been through.

He let his gaze trail down his frame and was not wholly unaware of the fact that he shouldn’t be doing this. Something about him, though, was getting to him.

“Here,” Connor said, coming up next to the bed.

“Thank you,” Elder Price mouthed, but Connor didn’t hear any sound. Painstakingly, he watched as the grip on the pillow loosened. He straightened his fingers and stretched them out slowly, wincing as he did.

“Do you want to sit up?” 

Elder Price nodded and Connor carefully brought his arm around his shoulder, avoiding his ribs as much as he could.

“Ahh,” Elder Price groaned, flinching but not actively resisting. He turned slowly so his legs dangled off the side of the small bed and allowed a moment for his body to adjust to this new position. When Connor felt certain that he was stable, he removed his hands from the elder’s body and took a seat next to him, handing him the water.

With two shaking hands holding the mug, Elder Price brought it to his lips. He swallowed, grimacing, and closed his eyes. He locked his jaw as he shifted his weight, and Connor instinctively tensed.

“Whoa,” Connor said, standing, as Elder Price began to push himself up. “I don’t think this is a good idea,” he continued. “I don’t think you should rush into things your body isn’t ready for.” The muscles in his forearms were taut as Elder clutched the mattress. Connor knew where this was going. “No, what are you doing? Do you… need food? Do you want more water? Just- ” Connor put his arms out, but what was he going to do? Physically hold him down? “Ahh,” he blurted, “Just… please just sit down. What-? Let me get you some water. Just- Ahh,” Connor was very much not in control of this situation, and Elder Price seemed hellbent on standing.

“I just need to stretch. To… shower,” he said, looking at his arms and hands, a mix of confusion and disgust crossing his features. He turned slowly and looked at the pillow, the sheets, getting a picture of how much of a wreck he was. He made a sound which Connor couldn’t quite describe, but that he knew was cute. _Stop._

“Yeah,” Connor responded, “yes. Agreed. I just think you should take it slow. How do you feel?” Connor asked. 

“Not great,” Elder Price said, after considering the question.

When he finally did move to stand, Connor got under his arm, wrapping it around his shoulders to help support him. He flinched visibly, but ultimately he accepted the assistance. The blanket fell to the floor as his feet took his weight.

“Are you alright?” Connor asked, instinctively putting his hand on his chest to help stabilize him.

He blinked hard, his free hand immediately covering Connor’s and repositioning it, a bit higher.

“I’m sorry.”

“I think that I probably have some broken ribs," he said, as he sucked in a breath.

Connor nodded. “You do.”

Together, they made their way to the bathroom. “You need clothes,” Connor announced, obviously. “And a towel. I’ll be right back.” He tried to clear his head as he retrieved the things: clean clothes, towels, water, aspirin. He wasn’t sure what he had thought this would be like, but it was causing him an alarming amount of anxiety. He knocked on the bathroom door gently. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Elder Price said, his voice still soft and sounding literally as far from alright as it could get.

“Okay, do you mind if I come in?” he asked.

“No, it’s okay.” Elder Price’s response came slowly.

He pushed the door open. Elder Price was sitting on the side of the tub, his elbows on his knees and his head down, his fingers clutching the hair above the nape of his neck. It looked painful, but considering how pale he had gotten, Connor figured he was probably experiencing worse pain in other areas, and maybe didn’t even notice that he was one yank away from balding himself.

Connor sat down next to him and covered his hand, coaxing his fingers loose. “I brought some aspirin. Gotswana said it would take the edge off the pain.”

“Thank you,” he whispered, taking the medicine quietly. He turned his head to look at Connor. His eyes were red.

“Here,” Connor said, his gaze moving to Elder Price’s socks. He reached behind him and turned on the water, the stream from the shower pouring into the bathtub. “I’ll untie the gown for you, you can keep yourself covered.” He did, and Elder Price remained still, staring straight ahead. Connor knew this was hard for him. It would be hard for anyone, but Elder Price was especially sensitive to anything that could remotely be construed as anti-Mormon. He was as careful as he could be about not crossing any lines, but watched Elder Price’s reactions closely to tell him if he did.

“Can you take off your socks?” he asked, more of a prompt than a question. Elder Price slowly bent and removed one sock, then the other. Connor helped him pull the hospital gown off of his arms, letting it drape over his lap. Elder Price reached up and loosened his tie slowly, gingerly pulling it over his head. He kept silent and very intentionally did not look at Connor.

“I’m going to help you with your shirt, and then I’ll leave while you get in the tub, okay?”

Elder Price nodded, tears starting to gather in his eyes. This was different from before; this sadness, hopelessness. Until now, all of the sobbing and the shaking - it was driven by the pain, he thought. This was the unrelenting despair of a man who had been shattered. The aftermath that Connor perhaps expected but couldn’t prepare for. Trembling and staring straight ahead with silent tears running down his cheeks; complying, but not at all okay with what was happening. Connor needed to be careful. Elder Price’s fingers shook as he fumbled over the buttons on his shirt, one at a time.

Should he say something? Offer some comfort? Offer to leave?

Connor slowly pulled the first sleeve back, freeing Elder Price’s arm, then the second. He carefully set the shirt on the floor with the socks. Elder Price sat quietly on the side of the tub, the gown still draped over his lap, otherwise naked. Connor didn’t waste time standing and turning. It wasn’t that a man seeing another man shirtless was some type of mortal sin, but the context surrounding this clearly rattled Elder Price, and he reminded himself again that he needed to be cautious.

“I’ll be right outside, okay?” he said, testing the water once more. He didn’t wait for a response before leaving the bathroom. He set the clean clothes on the counter and left the door cracked on his way out.

✥ ✥ ✥

The water was hot. Kevin slowly lowered himself into the tub, the shower stinging every place it hit him. He sat in the stream of water, a small cloth clutched tightly in his hand. He wrapped his arms around his knees, his ribs and his back and his stomach all aching with the movement.

Steam filled the bathroom and still he shook, burying his head into his knees. 

Why? he asked himself. He asked God, over and over again. Why did this happen to him? Why was he being punished? What had he done wrong? How could he earn forgiveness? What had he _done?_

He focused on breathing. The water ran red into the drain, eventually turning pink, lighter and lighter with each passing second, the evidence of what had happened to him washing away. He put his hands over the back of his head; he closed his eyes. He had no tears left in him to cry, he thought, as he sat shaking on the floor of the bathtub.

After some time, he lifted his head with new resolve. He began with his hair, his face, gingerly running the rag across his skin. Memories forced themselves into his mind. He tried to keep them at bay, to focus on his breathing. A flood of emotions would hit him and he’d freeze, close his eyes, think of the things he loved. God. His family. His friends back home. His bedroom with his things. Orlando. When he was certain he had a hold of himself, he continued wiping his body clean.

His stomach and ribs gave him the most trouble, the faintest touch sending shooting pain through his core. He stood slowly, every movement with deliberate precision, and let the water rinse all the residual dirt away.

And then there was Elder McKinley.

Kevin was sure he was waiting just beyond the door. He was grateful for the time alone, for time that he could spend trying to unpack his thoughts. He was equally grateful that the district leader had helped care for him, but if he allowed himself to really think through the events of the day-

Without warning, a wave of nausea overcame him. Frantic, he crawled out of the tub, ignoring the searing pain that the sudden movement caused, doubling over the toilet. He vomited violently. Over and over, until there was nothing left inside of him, and even then, he retched futilely. The tears followed, as quick as they were intense; he fought to fill his lungs. He shook, dripping water and covered in bruises. He covered his head with his hands and cried, a panicked cry that he couldn’t in any way control.

He was dying. He’d been punished enough, and now God was taking him. He couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t get control of his body. He prayed. He prayed that he’d be forgiven for his part in what had happened, that he’d be forgiven for taking the drink. That he’d be forgiven for breaking the rules. That God would understand and would still be kind to him in his afterlife. Between the dry heaving and sobbing, he gasped for air. The onslaught of memories pummeled him, image after image paired with the searing pain, the fear, the laughter.

He distantly felt something draped over him, covering his shaking body. He didn’t fight as his body was wrapped tightly, as he was pulled away from the toilet. He couldn’t hear and he couldn’t see, and all he could do was focus on catching his breath and praying that relief would come.

Eventually, it did. Curled in a tight ball on the cold tile, his body started to still. Breathing became easier, his arms protectively circling his broken ribs and willing the pain to ease. Through his tears, he looked at the man hovering protectively over him on the bathroom floor, his face a mask of panic and uncertainty. Kevin didn’t speak, he just worked to catch his breath.

“Are you alright?” Elder McKinley eventually asked. “That was a stupid question, don’t answer that. I just… I don’t know how to help you right now,” he whispered, his own breathing hitching.

Kevin nodded, a mixture of shame and unrelenting pain crossing his features. 

“Let’s get you back to bed.” Elder McKinley stood and helped Kevin to his feet with a new hesitantly, careful to keep the towel tightly secured around him. He walked with him, shouldering most of his weight as his body shook with every step, his head bowed and his face wet with tears that he, no matter how much he willed them away, couldn’t stop.

✥ ✥ ✥

Once he was dried, dressed, and settled on Elder Cunningham’s clean bed, Connor left Elder Price. The process had been completely silent and devoid of a single moment of eye contact. They both could use a little bit of alone time to decompress.

He somberly walked to the bathroom. He surveyed the scene, and without allowing himself to revisit those moments, began collecting the discarded clothing items. He stood and turned, the pile of filthy fabric in his hands, and nearly ran directly into Elder Cunningham, who stared at him from the doorway. 

“Shoot,” Elder McKinley said, stopping short. How much had he seen? Could he play it off? He hadn’t seen anything, he would’ve spoken up before. He would have seen him.

“What happened to him?” Elder Cunningham asked gruffly, the question pointed and direct. His eyes were tired but his tone was filled with a kind of gentle defiance, enough edge to tell Connor that he was serious and was unlikely to simply forget whatever he’d seen. As if to clarify, he nodded toward Elder Price’s door.

“Please, leave it alone,” Connor responded. “This isn’t something you need to worry about. Let it be.”

Elder Cunningham nodded, looking at the pile of clothing that Connor held. “I can wash them tomorrow,” he said. He was trying to be helpful, and Connor needed to be careful to remember that.

“It’s okay, Elder Cunningham. Please, just let this go.”

He was exhausted. He had barely slept or ate today, and the stress was taking its toll on him. He felt frustrated both in Elder Cunningham and himself, but mostly himself. Still, he needed to be kind. _Please, just let this go._

“Yeah,” Elder Cunningham said, his tone laced with something like guilt. His eyes went to his feet, shuffling awkwardly in the door. After some deliberation, he nodded and said, “Okay,” not remotely convincing Connor that this was the end of this line of questioning, but allowing him to escape it for the time being. 

And then without another word, he turned his back to Connor and knelt down silently to clean the blood from the bathroom floor. Connor watched for a moment before closing his eyes and retreating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4 should start seeing a tone shift so if the darkness is weighing you down, I mean... it'll always be there, by nature of this story, but it'll shift and be hopefully somewhat counter-balanced by happy/fluffsicles.


	4. Chapter 4

Connor stared wordlessly out the small window as the sun rose. From the living room, he could hear the other elders beginning their day enthusiastically. Sharing their plans, preparing to exercise, talking about the things they looked forward to. He needed to join them. He wasn’t sure what state Elder Price was in, only that he’d been in and out of sleep for the rest of the night, adopting a cycle that was all too familiar to Connor. His eyes would close, his breathing would level out, and invariably within forty-five minutes, the nightmares would start. 

It was a long, exhausting night in which Connor became intimately familiar with the worry lines on his new companion’s face, along with the other tells of a new kind of stress. He allowed himself to hope that maybe Elder Price would fully heal. That his life wasn’t irrevocably changed, and that the nightmares would dissipate with time and care.

He glanced at the clock. 6:37 am. He closed his eyes for a moment as he assessed his energy level, working out how he could sneak in some rest during the day to get him through, before standing. 

“Try to get some sleep, alright?” he said softly. Elder Price’s back was to him but without a doubt, he too, watched absently out the window. Elder Price curled up tighter, and Connor reached his hand out briefly before letting it drop. He left the bedroom.

“Good morning,” Elder Church said as he emerged. He and Elder Davis sat next to each other on the couch, bright eyed, both bent over and tying their shoes for their morning run. “Is Elder Price feeling better?” he asked, looking at Connor with genuine concern.

He nodded. “I… yeah. He’s feeling a little better, we’re going to take it easy today.” They were, according to the Missionary Handbook, required to stay close if not completely together at all times. The rules were, perhaps for the first time, working in Connor’s favor. 

“Good,” Elder Church said, standing and stretching. “If he’s asleep, you’re welcome to come for a run with us?” Elder Thomas stood too, both men beginning to warm up, boundless energy at 6:40 in the morning. Connor wondered what that felt like.

“I think I’ll stay back, just in case. Thanks for offering.”

Two by two they emerged from their rooms, taking on the day with the gusto that only Mormon missionaries could. With their companions, the elders went about their prayers, exercise routines, and planning sessions. Connor partook just enough to not draw attention to himself. He was exhausted. He was worried. 

He prayed easily, first for the health of his companion, then for the health of the people of Kitguli. He prayed for forgiveness for any stray thoughts he'd had about Elder Price. He prayed for guidance in navigating the next few days. He spent extra time praying for his family and for Elder Price’s family. He modified his routine for the morning, opting to stretch thoroughly and do body weight exercises to stay close in case Elder Price fell asleep again.

By the time the elders started filing back in to shower and get ready for their day, Connor had worked up a small sweat. They went about their mornings as they did daily, a well-oiled machine in which the three bathrooms were utilized efficiently to allow 9 men to shower, prepare breakfast, and dress themselves inside of 30 minutes. 

They sat around the large dining table and then prayed together.

Connor’s eyes were closed when he heard the chair pull against the floor. His head snapped up, only briefly making eye contact with Elder Price before 8 other sets of eyes joined his. 

“Elder Price,” Connor said, surprised, not daring to spare a glance around this table, but especially keeping his eyes off Elder Cunningham’s.

Elder Price wore the same white t-shirt and grey sweatpants that he’d helped him dress in last night, the fabric tight enough to show the faint outline of a well-muscled torso. He looked exhausted, but his easy smile somewhat shifted his overall presentation. His hair was - kind of - orderly, as if he’d combed through it with his fingers, but still not quite as pristinely placed as normal. Still, it covered the bruise on his head, and had a messy, disheveled vibe that wasn't entirely unappealing. He couldn’t cover his wrists, but Connor hoped that no one would be paying that close attention. His eyes were where all the real signs were, anyway. 

He eased himself into the chair, his hand almost unnoticeably shaking. “Elder McKinley,” he returned the greeting.

No one was speaking. Why was no one speaking? Connor felt himself, tense as ever, grasping at words. _What was he doing? Why was he out here?_ “Are you feeling better?” he finally asked, sparing a cursory glance around the room. Elder Cunningham’s eyes were glued to Elder Price, the other elders all quiet and making abnormal eye contact with their plates, each occasionally sneaking glances up.

“Uhh,” Elder Price said, his hand awkwardly finding the back of his neck. “Not exactly. I thought I’d… um, I don’t know. I just figured maybe if I ate a little it’d help.”

Elder Church nodded, standing and grabbing him a plate, utensils, a cup.

Elder Cunningham smiled at him, anxious and tense and not at all the jovial man that they’d gotten to know these past few days. Elder Price smiled back, nodding his head as if in greeting or perhaps apologetically. Connor wasn’t certain of his meaning, but he seemed to be trying to communicate something to Elder Cunningham with the gesture. 

Elder Church set a cup of orange juice in front of him and an empty plate, and settled back into his seat at the table. 

“Did Elder McKinley tell you about Thursday?” Elder Thomas asked, as Elder Price carefully took a drink. His plate remained empty. 

He shook his head, swallowing back the juice. Connor could not drag his eyes away if he tried to, and he hoped that no one would notice.

“No,” he said. “What happened Thursday?” His voice was gruff and pained, but Connor wasn’t sure if anyone could even pick up on that. 

_Two things, actually._

It occurred to Connor that he may not even have registered what day it was now, or what did happen to him on Thursday, which was just as well.

“Elder Cunningham _baptized_ one of the villagers,” Elder Thomas replied, genuine excitement in his voice.

Elder Price raised his eyebrows, looking skeptically toward Elder Cunningham. 

“And then,” Elder Thomas continued, “we were able to baptize 19 others!” 

Connor smiled as Elder Price tried to hide his surprise. His mouth opened, closed, opened again. The crease between his eyebrows deepened, his head cocked to the side. “What?” he finally said, maybe a little sharply. Connor bit back a second smile. Elder Price was so dang prickly, and he felt a sort of... elation at seeing some of that come through again.

“Yeah!” Elder Neeley jumped in. “It was really incredible.” As they recounted the story, Connor noted two things: Elder Price’s reaction went from skepticism, to shock, to perhaps disappointment, and landed on a sort of resigned disbelief. Elder Cunningham kept his eyes averted for the first time since Elder Price emerged. Weird.

“It’s too bad you weren’t there,” Elder Church said, genuinely. “It was really something.”

Elder Price smiled and nodded, the expression tight and not quite reaching his eyes. Connor wondered how much pain he was in, his hand splayed protectively across his stomach, out of sight of the elders unless they were specifically looking.

“Yeah, where _were_ you?” Elder Thomas asked, taking a bite of his food. Elder Price took a drink of his juice.

“I…” Elder Price took a moment, unsure of how to respond or perhaps still not oriented to the day of the week. 

Connor thought quickly, trying to come up with a distraction to pull attention from this line of questioning. There was a moment in which Elder Price considered the timeline when he realized exactly where he was, an expression of pain crossing his features briefly before he composed himself.

Connor was about to speak when Elder Church broke the silence for him. “Do you want some food?” he asked, holding up a bowl of fruit. “Why aren’t you eating?”

“Oh,” Elder Price responded, looking at his empty plate. This was a side of Elder Price that none of the elders had seen yet. The brazen, headstrong young man who knew exactly what to say and how to act nowhere to be found. “I’m… fasting.”

“I thought you came to breakfast to help your stomach?” Elder Michaels now, smiling. None of it was antagonizing, all genuine curiosity, a trait that was reinforced since birth in each of them. 

“Elder Price,” Connor finally said, a little louder than the others. “We haven’t had much time to get to know you. Tell us about yourself.” 

Elder Price smiled, some of the tension leaving his shoulders at the seemingly welcome deflection. This was only his second breakfast at the apartment, and although over the past couple of days Connor had been slowly building up a profile of who he was, to the others, he was still mostly a stranger. 

“Well,” he said, his eyes landing on Elder Cunningham’s. “I’m from Salt Lake City, born and raised. I uhh… have a sister and two brothers.” He seemed comfortable enough with this line of conversation. He was well spoken, Connor immediately decided. He wasn’t sure how much pain he was in, but he was selling himself to this group, and that was a job that he was dang good at. He answered questions about himself easily, talking about his childhood, how he came to be a missionary, that it’d been his goal since before he could remember. 

“Yeah, but what to do you do… you know,” Elder Church interrupted him, “for _fun_.” 

This gave him pause, which was not surprising but also did, to an extent, break Connor’s heart. “I like to draw,” he eventually said, quietly, looking down at the table. Connor’s eyes snapped up and met his briefly. “And sometimes play piano.” He didn’t seem ashamed of either of these things, but he was clearly much less comfortable discussing them and didn’t offer any additional details. 

The other elders made perfunctory comments about the arts, their own personal hobbies and endeavors, keeping the conversation easy and light as they devoured breakfast, but Connor once more couldn’t take his eyes off of Elder Price. As the elders started clearing out, Elder Price again lifted a shaking hand to sip his juice. 

When Elder Church passed Elder Price on the way to his room, he patted his shoulder, an innocent action that Connor noticed just a second too late. All of the color drained from Elder Price’s face. He gasped in a breath, his eyes glued to the wall in front of him, his fingers wrapped tightly around the cup. Elder Church walked by as if nothing had happened, but Connor could see the panic on Elder Price’s face. In his body. The other elders filed out, none the wiser to what Connor suspected was the initiation of a full blown panic attack.

When the room was empty, he said quietly, “Are you okay?” Elder Price set down the juice slowly and deliberately. He put his palms flat against the table. Connor didn’t move, and Elder Price didn’t move. “Breathe,” he said quietly, wanting to reach out to him but knowing _very_ well that that was a terrible idea. 

Elder Price did breathe, a deep, cautious breath, his body still as a statue and his hands planted on that table. Connor wasn’t sure what went on in his mind to bring him back, but after several endless moments, the tension began to dissipate. Elder Price’s breathing normalized, his eyes finding Connor’s. “I’m okay,” he said, a shaky hand once more grabbing his cup. “I’m alright.” He stood slowly and cleaned up the table, wordlessly moving to the sink and beginning on the dishes.

✥ ✥ ✥

The day passed mostly uneventfully. Elder Price found some comfort in a large chair by the window, in the sunlight, and stole small naps wherever he could. He would take slightly excessive doses of aspirin and then curl up tightly, his eyes would close slowly and he’d be at peace, if only for twenty minutes. The nightmares would come on and Connor would cautiously rub his back until he either woke or stilled, and more often than not it was the former.

When the doctor came to check on him, he wordlessly followed him to his bedroom. Connor stayed in the living room, pacing, pulling his hair out, listening for signs of trouble. He wasn’t sure what Gotswana’s agenda was, but expected if it involved anything that remotely resembled examining Elder Price, it wasn’t going to be an easy visit on him. 

But he heard nothing. No cries or screams, no signs at all of any excruciating medical things happening beyond that door. Maybe they were just talking.

Gotswana eventually left, and on his way out of the bedroom, he stopped Connor. “Watch for signs of infection,” he said. Connor wasn’t specifically sure how he was meant to be _watching_ , since he was fairly certain that Elder Price would draw a very hard and fast line at him doing anything that _at all_ resembled seeing his injuries, and rightfully so. Connor, for his experience with the missionaries and his position with the Church, was a twenty year old with literally zero medical experience. When he asked what that meant, Gotswana gave him more specific directions. Fever, chills, vomiting, pale skin-tone, bleeding. _Ok_ , Connor thought, having an uncharacteristically sarcastic thought about how those were all things that were presently happening at a near constant rate. He opted to keep those thoughts inside.

At the point that Gotswana had left and Connor went to check on him, Elder Price had mostly calmed himself down. It was obvious that, while he didn’t scream or fight, the visit had been unpleasant, his eyes still red and wet.

“I’m okay,” he said, slowly sitting. 

“You look exhausted,” Connor responded. Elder Price cocked his head to the side.

“So do you,” he replied humorlessly, with an edge that Connor wasn’t expecting. 

“Right… Are you hungry? Gotswana said if you’re feeling up to it you can eat a little.” 

Elder Price nodded, carefully considering this. “Okay,” he finally replied, slowly lifting himself from the bed. The day had been good to him, and Connor felt better about his steadiness on his feet. Still, he hovered closely as they made their way back to the living room.

Connor went to the kitchen and put together a bowl of blueberries. He wasn’t sure if Elder Price liked them, but they would be gentle enough on his stomach and hopefully easy enough... yeah.

He brought them back and sat down next to him on the small couch. He watched warily as Elder Price selected the tiniest berry and slowly ate it. 

“I think we should talk,” Connor finally said, Elder Price eating a few more berries.

Elder Price nodded, unsurprised.

“You’ve had a heck of a few first days.” Connor looked sideways at the other elder. His white shirt was distracting, wanting to ride up a little with the way he sat, showing the tiniest sliver of Elder Price’s side. After an elongated pause, he shook his head to clear it, bringing himself back on track. “We’ve all been here for three months and none of us have seen anyone get murdered, nor have any of us been assaulted.”

“First time for everything,” Elder Price responded. 

“Yeah. The thing is, I’m supposed to call the mission president… I mean, I was supposed to when you came home covered in blood, I was _supposed_ to when you left for Florida, and I most certainly was supposed to when you nearly died.” 

“You didn’t?” Elder Price asked, incredulous. Connor shook his head and Elder Price raised his eyebrows. “What stopped you? You’re risking a lot.”

“I don’t know,” he replied, looking out the window, pensive. “I guess I just… I didn’t… want to ruin your mission.”

Elder Price smiled, a quiet short laugh escaping him. Connor was pretty sure it was sardonic at best.

“Well,” Elder Price replied, absently rubbing his bruised wrist. Connor thought maybe he should offer to rub it for him? If that would help? _Stop_. “I appreciate it.” 

“I was just thinking maybe we should probably tell him? I mean- what did Gotswana say? Does he think you’ll be alright? I just think if you’re- you know- ripped… up… ahh.” 

Elder Price raised his eyebrows.

“That, you know… you probably need like… medical attention. Or, more, I guess, than what you’ve gotten.”

“He said I looked okay,” he replied, his voice soft. An extended pause. “I can’t believe Elder Cunningham baptized all those people?” 

Connor recognized a solid subject change when he saw one. “Yes,” he said. “It was really something.”

Elder Price nodded. “It’s amazing, isn’t it? I just don’t get it.” He continued rubbing his wrist. Connor fought off making the offer once more. “He told me he hasn’t even read it."

“Really?” Connor replied. “How’d he swing that?”

“I don’t know. None of it makes sense.” Elder Price shifted his weight so that he was mostly laying. It was getting close to evening, and the others would be in soon.

“Maybe you should head to bed,” he said. 

Elder Price nodded and stood, ever so gingerly, but still groaning softly as he did. Connor watched as he walked, his gait careful, to the bedroom.

✥ ✥ ✥

Sleep was nearly impossible. While he had slightly more energy today, he still felt drained. Physically weak, mentally destroyed. Spending time with the other elders had helped, but now, in the dead of night, there was no one to keep him company and his thoughts were taking a shape that he did not want to explore yet. Or maybe ever.

Kevin looked at Elder McKinley for a moment, splayed uncomfortably in the chair that he’d dragged in yesterday. He couldn’t exactly pinpoint why he was avoiding the second bed, only that he was. He’d learned some things in the last two days about Elder McKinley, things that he was storing in his memory to build a more complete picture: a complimentary person to the caricature he’d initially met.

Elder McKinley, for instance, didn’t sleep. At least not well. At this moment, yes, he was asleep, but Kevin was learning that could and would change instantly. He, above the others maybe, was a great Mormon. Committed to the church and moreover committed to helping people out. He had his own battles that he was fighting, but he seemed to be focused on making God proud, albeit his methodology somewhat flawed.

Kevin’s eyes were heavy. He looked at the clock. It was after midnight, the apartment silent, Uganda at peace, if only for a moment. He sat up slowly, the pit of his stomach aching as his muscles were engaged. He wasn’t going to fall asleep. If he could give his body and his mind a day or two to reset, maybe then the memories and the nightmares would stop. Until then, he’d focus on his work, on being the best Mormon he could and on earning God’s forgiveness.

He opened the small drawer on his nightstand. In it, there were 3 things. His copy of the Book of Mormon lay innocently enough, well worn from daily readings. Under it was his leather sketchbook, a gift from his mother that had arrived his first day here. Under his sketchbook, Kevin knew, was a clear bag. And in that clear bag… Kevin didn’t allow himself to think about that.

Without much consideration, he grabbed it. He stood remarkably warily, careful first not to damage his broken body further, and second not to wake Elder McKinley. It hurt, bad, but he pushed that aside, breathing deeply and waiting for the pain to ebb. He slid into his shoes and walked quietly to the front door. Ironically, the dangers of Uganda weren’t at the forefront of his concerns right now. Right now, he needed to get rid of it.

He stepped outside into the crisp night air and closed the door gently behind him. Nabulungi had warned of a million ways he could be killed, but he figured if he hadn’t died yet, God must still have some purpose for him. His neglected protege who He’d so thoroughly abandoned. He sat on the porch, his body retaliating by sending a shooting pain up his spine, the small bag in his shaking hand. Through watery eyes, he looked out at the night sky.

It was beautiful, he thought, willing the pain to ease. The sky was clear and the world was dark. There were no cars, no people. No sky rises or airplanes. Just the open air. And that book.

“Do I want to know?” he heard from behind him and flinched instinctively, recognizing Elder McKinley’s voice but not immediately able to control his body’s reaction.

“You startled me,” he said, settling back down onto the step and releasing a tense breath. 

“I’m sorry,” Elder McKinley replied, sitting down next to him. In his hands, two lidded cups. “You look terrible,” he said earnestly.

“Thanks,” Kevin replied, looking back at the picturesque town. Okay, picturesque was pushing it, but he maintained that there was beauty there, if he really looked for it. “If you came out here to tell me to get some sleep, you’re wasting your time. I tried that already,” he looked at Elder McKinley. “Didn’t work.”

Elder McKinley handed him one of the cups. It was warm to the touch, immediate red flags raised. Kevin ignored them.

“No,” Elder McKinley said. “I just thought I’d see what you were doing, out here all alone, in the middle of the night. I _am_ your companion, after all.” 

Kevin smiled and smelled the liquid, although he didn’t need to. Where Elder McKinley had gotten coffee at this hour was beyond him. He must have had a stash in the apartment. It wasn’t something that he was willing to spend his energy worrying about at that moment. 

“I don’t mean to state the obvious,” Elder McKinley continued, “but you do know that it’s dangerous out here?”

Kevin laughed humorlessly and smelled the coffee again. It smelled terrible. Was he going to drink this? God had a laundry list of grievances against him right now, but if he was being honest with himself, he had a few grievances of his own.

“I’ve heard.”

They sat in silence, Elder McKinley slowly sipping his drink and Kevin sparing the occasional sniff at his. He couldn’t fully understand how people loved it, but he was exhausted, that much was indisputable. He raised it to his lips and inhaled deeply. 

“But really, care to tell me what you’re doing? Just getting some fresh air?”

Kevin let out a deep breath, cautiously grabbing the bag from beside him. He held it for Elder McKinley to see but didn’t look at it himself.

After Elder McKinley’s face went through the gambit of reactions, Kevin said, “Gotswana gave it to me today. He wasn’t sure if I wanted it, or what to do with it, I guess.”

Elder McKinley nodded. Obviously Kevin didn’t want it. Was that not obvious? What purpose would he have for this?

“I thought about burning it,” he continued. “But that felt like it might be pushing the limits of what God would forgive me for.” Elder McKinley opened his mouth to speak but no sound came out. “I can’t very well keep it. I can’t burn it. I can’t give it away.”

“We can bury it?” Elder McKinley suggested, his eyes cautious.

“We’ll bury it,” Kevin repeated after a moment, nodding. He lifted the cup to his lips and took a drink. It was slightly cooler now, but the taste was horrible. Still, he took another sip, the warm drink burning his throat in a good way, his body welcoming the feeling.

They walked together in the darkness, slowly, Elder McKinley matching Kevin in pace but staying a few feet back. Each step ached. His hobbling was… not embarrassing, necessarily, but a good reminder that he was pushing the limits of his body. He kept the apartment in his sight, enjoying the cool breeze and the calm of the night as he gripped the clear bag tightly. When they got far enough off the road that Kevin felt sure no one would come dig his book up, he knelt down slowly. Elder McKinley silently followed suit.

The dirt was soft and easy to pull up, and together, they worked to dig a little hole, just a foot or so down.

“Do you want to say anything?” Elder McKinley asked. Kevin couldn’t read whether he was being serious or not.

“I still haven’t… wrapped my head around my thoughts,” Kevin responded. “I… no,” he eventually finished, setting the bag into the hole. They covered it, pressing the dirt down tight. When the rain came, it would pack it in. Kevin felt his eyes watering with unshed tears and resolved not to allow them to fall. Not tonight. He lifted his hand casually and wiped them away before standing. 

Elder McKinley watched, not doing much to conceal his concerned expression. He couldn’t help it.

“It feels like… I don’t know, not closure,” Kevin said as they walked back to the apartment, drinking the coffee more easily now and continuing to add more sins to his list. “But maybe like some small weight has been lifted.”

Elder McKinley nodded, keeping close but not touching him.

“I just don’t understand,” he continued. “I’ve been the best Mormon I could possibly be. I… did everything right. I don’t know why God chose _me_ for this.” Confusion flooded his features. “It just doesn’t make any sense.” His voice was quiet as he confessed to Elder McKinley. 

“Elder McKinley?” Kevin asked, after some time had passed in silence. “Do you believe it all?” Asking the district leader whether he believed in God's words was a large risk, but in a strange way, he felt a certain trust in Elder McKinley. This was something that had been on Kevin’s mind, and he was desperate to work through it. He’d never had thoughts like these before, and they made him nervous. What was he, if not a firm believer in the scripture? Was he the only one? Was he just angry with God, and his anger was manifesting itself in the darkest thoughts he’d ever had? Would his relationship with God heal? Would they ever forgive one another?

Elder McKinley didn’t have to think about this. “No,” he responded easily, “Not all of it.” He smiled, a small sad smile that Kevin could, in that moment, relate to.

Kevin nodded, letting it sink in. 

“Elder Price?” They neared the house now. Kevin’s eyes were tired and heavy, but he felt more awake with the coffee. Like he could make it through this night without having another nightmare. 

“Yeah?” he said, turning toward Elder McKinley as he gingerly made his way up the steps to the porch.

“You can call me Connor. If you want.”

Kevin smiled in spite of himself as he unlocked the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First (lol ok maybe not FIRST) artistic liberty: making the leap here that baptize me and the doctor/walk with the bag are occurring simultaneously on stage, but in fact are occurring at separate times, there's just a creative time split happening on that stage. If you squint really hard you can almost see it 😉


	5. Chapter 5

Kevin lay in his bed, stretching his arms slowly above his head and wincing as he did. They’d almost made it through the night. His nightmares, when he slept too hard, had been intense, sometimes reliving the worst moments of his life, sometimes his brain inventing new ones. Afterward, the world was a scarier, darker place, every time. It wasn’t as though he’d wake up and carry on with his day. The recovery was almost as bad as the dreams themselves. He’d rather just avoid them all together, and continued to hold out hope that, in time, they would go away. And then he could finally rest.

And so, for the time being, real sleep remained off the table.

Fortunately, Elder McKinley, _Connor_ , took his role as District Leader with a fervid passion, the care and attention he provided to Kevin proving to be unrelenting. Kevin couldn’t quite pinpoint how much of Elder McKinley’s behavior was dictated by duty and how much by guilt. He didn’t blame him for what had happened, truly he didn’t, but he could see that there was remorse there.

Connor sat in the chair reading silently, and Kevin followed his cue by pulling out his copy of the Book of Mormon. He turned to his favorite passage, bookmarked by one of hundreds of small tabs he’d placed throughout the book, and read it slowly. He found himself, in that last hour of the night, reading his book through a new lens. He didn’t mean to, but as he read the stories that had confounded him the most in the past, Kevin couldn’t suppress a small chuckle, his eyes closing and his ribs hurting. He took a moment to compose himself. He balked at his own behavior. Whatever his current issues with God, he was better than this.

When he opened his eyes, Connor was staring at him with a mixture of alarm and, maybe some humor was there too. Kevin shook his head, clearing his throat softly. “Sorry,” he said. “I think it’s the lack of sleep. I mean - that’s not an excuse. I’m sorry.” He repeated the sentiment internally, genuinely.

Connor smiled, shaking his head. “You don’t need to apologize to me. Or to anyone.” 

“Yeah.” Kevin sat up, careful of his body (was it ever going to just _feel better_?). He stretched slowly. Connor continued monitoring his movements, but he was getting used to the second pair of eyes tracking his every move.

“Ready?” he asked, rubbing one hand over his face, and fumbling over the bottle of aspirin.

Connor stood and handed him his cup of water. “As I’ll ever be.”

✥ ✥ ✥

The morning routine was harder today, Connor on a full three days without sleep now. He ate quietly, stealing glances at Elder Price when he could.

“You’re not gonna eat again?” Elder Church asked at breakfast, as Elder Price quietly drank back a second glass of orange juice. 

Elder Price lifted his eyes slowly, buying himself time to think through a response to this. He couldn’t still be fasting. 

“No,” he replied eventually. “I guess I’m still not feeling that well.”

Elder Church nodded suspiciously, but for the time being, they let it go. Connor watched as Elder Thomas’s eyes lingered a little too long, with a few too many questions in them.

Eventually, the other elders left, until it was just Connor, Elder Price, Elder Cunningham, and Elder Thomas seated around the table. The room had cleared out quickly, as finding people to teach or to help or to pray with made Sundays a favorite for everyone, and unlike Elder Price, the rest of them still seemed to have a penchant for spreading God’s word. 

That wasn’t fair. Elder Price was confused, and he was hurting. Connor wasn’t sure where this was all headed, but felt a considerable amount of sympathy for the elder so obviously struggling with his identity in addition to trying to get through what was winding up to be an intense healing process. As if on cue, Elder Price grabbed his stomach under the table, wincing as he did.

Connor had been dreading today. Sundays were Elder Thomas’s favorite day, as well; they’d built something of a tradition of mixing teaching the gospel with helping the villagers repair the school building. It had been unusable for the last three years. Every Sunday, for the past two months, they’d met up with a small group of natives in slightly more casual attire, teaching about the Latter-Day Saints and bringing the small building back to life. They were nearing the end, and the hope was for it to be occupied within a few more visits.

“This is such a weird situation, huh?” Elder Thomas said, standing as he broke the silence. He straightened out his shirt, a button-down with no tie, and tucked it snugly into his jeans. “But are we gonna make this happen? Maybe just for today we can switch back, do the lessons together, and tonight figure out the rest. Like… switch back… again?”

Connor rolled the idea around his head, not for the first time today feeling a deep sense of apprehension.

His concern was warranted. What if Kevin fell asleep? What if something terrible happened? Would Elder Cunningham deal with it? Would they be okay? 

“I… do you… what do you think?” he asked, looking at Elder Price. “Would you two mind pairing up for the day?”

Before Elder Price could answer, Elder Thomas jumped back in. “Is this okay?” he asked. All eyes moved to him. “I mean, the rules… we’re bending them… like, a lot. Are we sure the mission president is cool with this?”

Connor stared at him incredulously. The mission president, Connor thought, had no choice but to be cool, since he didn’t know a thing. 

“I don’t mind,” Elder Price said, a sleepy smile crossing his lips as if to say _See? I’m smiling. Totally fine._

“What will you guys do?” Elder Thomas asked. 

“Oh, we don’t have a plan yet,” Elder Cunningham said, a little more enthusiastically than Elder Price seemed prepared for. “But we’ll make one!”

“Yeeeah.” Connor gave one last pointed look at Elder Price, but what could they do? This seemed like it was going to happen, one way or another.

“Have a good trip,” Elder Price said, careful to not look too uncomfortable as he settled down into the couch.

Connor opened his mouth to speak but opted to remain silent, and instead turned away and let out of a deep breath. He opened the door and followed Elder Thomas out into the bright morning, and Elder Cunningham was alone with Elder Price for the first time in… a while.

✥ ✥ ✥

“So,” Elder Cunningham said, after several long seconds of silence passed. Kevin looked at him carefully, mentally preparing himself for whatever was going to come out of his mouth. Elder Cunningham was massively unpredictable, and Kevin couldn’t quite get a handle on what to expect. “What should we do today?” he ended up asking happily. Easy enough.

“I need to shower,” Kevin responded directly, noting Elder Cunningham’s face falling. He’d apologized after he left him, but they hadn’t really had an opportunity to let their relationship heal. If that was a thing that was going to happen.

“Yeah,” Elder Cunningham replied, nodding and sitting on the couch. “Totally. Are you feeling better?”

“I-” Kevin started to say.

“Because between you and me, you haven’t been looking so good.”

Kevin nodded, blinking hard. “Yeah, I-”

“So if you want to take it easy today, I feel really good about that plan. We can just chill, relax. We can hang here, do missionary stuff. You know, read the… the good book, talk about God.”

Kevin’s expression shifted to one that was a combination of confusion and frustration. He’d keep it casual today. He could do this.

“Ok,” he said quickly. “I just need to shower, and so maybe you can go ahead and get started, and we’ll catch up later?” 

Elder Cunningham’s mouth opened as he considered it. He didn’t seem upset or put off, maybe just a little lost. “Yeaaah,” he said, drawing the word out as he formed his thoughts.

Kevin jumped on the silent opportunity. “Maybe you can grab a book and start reading? Start with Nephi, it’s my favorite.”

Elder Cunningham smiled widely that at, perhaps feeling in on a personal secret between friends. 

“And then we’ll catch up later.”

“Yeah,” Elder Cunningham said, a little more excitement back in his voice, nodding as he half-walked half-danced to their room. Kevin watched this with a sort of exhausted annoyance. He’d take it easy on Elder Cunningham. Maybe he could teach him something.

Kevin walked gingerly to the bathroom and stripped off his clothing carefully. He looked in the mirror, examining his features for the first time in a while. He lifted his hair and examined the bruise, pushing down the memories of how it got there. Truth be told, Kevin hardly noticed it. As far as his injuries went, it has given him the least trouble.

His face looked hollower than he thought it should, his cheekbones more pronounced than they had been. There were bags under his slightly red eyes. He ran his hands through his disheveled hair, taming it a little. His ribs were bruised but he didn’t feel like he looked too thin. He supposed, if 19 years of being a dedicated Mormon would do anything, it made sense that it’d be in something inconsequential as motivating him to stay in shape. 

He folded his dirty clothes and stepped into the shower, letting his eyes close as the warm water poured over him. It felt good to get clean, although his belly and his back ached with the prolonged standing. He made quick work of himself. He combed his hair, he shaved the two day stubble that covered his jaw. He splashed cool water on his face, hoping it’d wake him up a bit. 

If Elder Cunningham had found somewhere outside of the apartment to study, that would mean he was alone for a moment. He knew better than to try to steal a nap, but coffee and aspirin seemed like a really good combination. Who _was_ he?

He went to his bedroom. He carefully selected a clean white shirt and tie. He chose a pair of clean black pants. He opened his top drawer and regarded the contents carefully. On one side, a stack of pristinely placed temple garments. On the other, folded black socks. He selected the socks easily and set them on the bed with the rest of his outfit before returning to the drawer to really lean into his existential crisis.

Why was this so hard? He ran his fingers over the garments, thinking of all the ways he’d failed God over the last few days. Did he deserve to wear these? Did he want to?

He closed the drawer, empty-handed, and walked back to the bed. He dressed slowly, letting the weight of his decision fully sink in. _Forgive me_. Not just for the temple garments. This went deeper. Kevin couldn’t truly identify what was in his heart right then, but he knew on a spiritual level that he was failing God, and that things were deteriorating faster than he ever thought possible.

✥ ✥ ✥

Kevin wandered the village, stopping briefly to look at the small shops, greeting the villagers who chose to look at him as they went about their day. Mostly trying to keep himself awake. 

He found a small grassy area a few minutes from the village and sat down. He could sleep, just for a moment. He was so _tired_. His energy continued to dip as he laid down, letting his eyes close. 

A passing car pulled him instantly awake and he bolted upright. His heart was pounding in his chest, his ribs hurting at the unanticipated movement, but he was alright. No nightmare. Maybe he was getting better, after all.

He glanced at his watch. Only 10 minutes had passed, barely enough for him to even fall asleep. Still, his eyes felt a little better, maybe? He felt the familiar sting of tears. He was happy to blame these too on the lack of sleep, as his energy was just in a consistent nose-dive to nothingness. He inhaled deeply through his nose and pushed himself up. This wasn’t him. This person, this shell of a person, really. _He was better than this._

He walked purposefully through the village until he found the little coffee shop, appropriately labeled Kafe. He’d walked past it his first day here but thought nothing of it, other than a brief moment where he’d considered the exchange of goods in this country. Now, he sat gingerly on the small stool by the counter.

The woman who owned the shop had kind eyes and a gentle demeanor, serving him a cup of burning hot black coffee that, upon taking his first sip, was nothing like the coffee Connor had made him. If that was disgusting, this was on a whole new level. She left him to sit alone, his body warming up with the horrible drink. It did its intended job, however, and as he swallowed back sip after sip, he felt a spike in his energy. He _got_ it, you know? It brought him back to life, and he could see how people took to it daily.

He didn’t know how long he sat there. The woman’s name was Kimbe, he learned. He’d actually already met her before, which he knew said something about him that he’d tackle another time. She had two small children and sold coffee during the day to keep them fed. Her husband had died. 

Kevin spoke softly and quietly as he started in on his third… no, fourth, cup. “I came here to help, you know?” he told her as she leaned against the other side of the counter. “And I just… I feel like everything is crashing down around me.”

She looked at him with pity, which he hated.

“Elder McKinley is the only one who knows, and he’s… I don’t know. He’s more forgiving than he should be. My parents… the Church… I mean, definitely God. None of them will be as forgiving as him.” His hands shook as he held his cup tightly. 

“Two weeks ago I was praying to go to Florida,” he said through a laugh. “I thought I could just… just help them, and also just feel… happy. Today I’m praying that I make it until tomorrow.”

He stopped talking then, instead drinking and drinking and drinking, the warmth burning his throat and bringing him back to life, one sip at a time.

“Alright, give me another one,” he said, handing her his empty cup. She regarded him carefully and shook her head slightly, turning her back to him. “Come on,” his voice was rough. His stomach hurt, but he, for the first time in three days, felt energized, almost like normal.

“Elder Price!” 

Kevin closed his eyes and took a breath as Elder Cunningham ran toward him. He didn’t hate Elder Cunningham. He didn’t honestly _know_ Elder Cunningham. “Elder Price?” he said again, coming closer. Kevin watched as his companion surveyed the evidence and then he closed his eyes once more. 

“What happened to you?” he finally whispered, taking in the discarded cups of coffee, and probably countless other clues from his current physical state. 

That was a loaded question; Kevin didn’t know specifically what he was referring to. 

“I woke up,” he finally said, defeated. “That’s what happened.”

“Yeah, of course you woke up. You drank twelve cups of coffee.”

Kevin felt his frustration rising. Without hesitation, he lashed out at Elder Cunningham, the building pit of hopelessness and internal turmoil finally bubbling over. His words had an uncharacteristic bite to them, but once he’d started, he couldn’t stop. “You know what? Why don’t you tell me how it is, huh? How is it _you_ converted all those people into Mormons?” Stop, Kevin. Elder Cunningham didn’t deserve this. Elder Cunningham, for all his faults, looked up to Kevin in a way that he hadn't earned. He was well-meaning, if wildly aggressive in his efforts to forge a friendship. 

Elder Cunningham blanched, Kevin expecting and admittedly deserving whatever retaliation he got, but unable to stop himself. “You’re getting everything you pray for. You’re doing everything I was supposed to do… doesn’t that seem a little telling to you?”

“Telling of what?”

“The universe... it doesn’t work the way we were told!” Kevin closed his eyes, taking a breath. He needed to calm down; this wasn’t him, this wasn’t the person he was or the person he wanted to be.

“Okay look, the mission president is coming, and if I’m without my companion, it looks really bad,” Elder Cunningham said, his words carrying their own bite. 

Kevin sat back down, a new layer of surprise mixed with anxiety taking over at this news. “Oh, so that’s why you came.”

“No, I came because I care-”

“That’s bullcrap Elder, and you know it!” Kevin’s voice was louder than he intended, but he wasn’t in the frame of mind to control himself. 

“Look, I know we aren’t the best companions, but if we could just _pretend_ to be together in front of the mission president, you can get a ticket home, I can get my medal, and we never have to see each other again.”

“Fine,” Kevin said. “But don’t talk to me. And... don’t touch me.”

“Fine,” Elder Cunningham replied, a little more concerned than angry. What could have been full minutes passed in silence, Elder Cunningham’s frustration dissipating as he stared at Kevin. He smiled his goofy smile which Kevin was learning almost definitely meant some type of bit was coming, and before he knew it, Elder Cunningham had reached over and run his hand down his face, playfully running away.

Kevin gasped, the color draining from his skin. In the moments where he still had control, he forced himself to think only of the things he loved. Florida. He loved Florida, he loved Orlando. He’d go back there one day. He’d make it through this. He blinked hard, trying to keep his focus. Elder Cunningham turned around, presumably checking to make sure Kevin followed. His playful expression immediately morphed into one of regret and he quickly closed the distance between them. “Elder Price!” he said, his voice filled now with concern.

“Elder Price, I’m sorry!” His hands hovered near Kevin but he was careful now not to touch him. Kevin’s world was black as he tried earnestly to climb his way back to reality. “I didn’t mean it!” His voice was loud, but Kevin was grateful at that moment for it. He clung onto the words, swallowing hard and focusing on his memories of his trip to Orlando. He was going to vomit.

“I’m gonna throw up,” he said, standing shakily, his fingers clutching the countertop for support. Elder Cunningham quickly surveyed the area and grabbed a small trash can, holding it in front of him. When Kevin was done, he took several deep breaths, and looked apologetically at Kimbe.

“It’s okay,” she said, taking the can and removing the bag. “It’s okay, Elder.” He didn’t have the words to apologize, so he just shook his head, holding back tears.

“Elder Price, please tell me what’s wrong.” Elder Cunningham’s voice had a new edge to it, desperation, he guessed. “Please, tell me what’s happened.”

“I can’t.” He spoke between gasps. “I can’t,” he whispered again, wiping the tears from his cheeks. They walked back to the apartment side by side in silence, Kevin’s breaths quivering, and Elder Cunningham not for a single moment taking his eyes off of him, his best friend.

✥ ✥ ✥

Connor stared at the door, his expression tight. All of the others had already arrived home. All but two. Elder Cunningham and Elder Price were nowhere to be seen, and Connor had berated himself thoroughly for the last hour for his poor judgment in allowing them to be alone.

His leg bounced anxiously as the other sounds bled together. Elder Thomas excitedly talked about their day, looking to Connor frequently to bring him into the discussion. Connor made comments that he wasn’t actually sure were in line with the questions he was being asked, as he wasn’t hearing much of the actual discussion, and then went back to staring at that door.

 _Where were they_?

Kitguli was small enough; if something had happened, he’d have heard about it, right?

But he’d been distracted. He shouldn’t have let them go alone. 

He glanced at the clock. 9:02. Connor stood.

“They’re past curfew,” he said gruffly.

The other elders all look at him in unison, a varying degree of confused. 

“Elder Price and Elder Cunningham?”

Connor nodded, pacing toward the door.

“They might just be teaching?” Elder Church said, his voice too soft. Connor’s eyes met his and he nodded.

“I should go look for them.”

“I’m sure they’re fine,” Elder Thomas spoke now. “What’s with them, anyway?”

“Excuse me?” Connor said, keeping his tone neutral. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… I know Elder Price isn’t feeling well, but he’s acting bizarre. Is he okay?”

“He’s fine,” he replied, a little bite behind his voice.

“No,” Elder Neeley said, nodding. “I think Elder Thomas has a point. He shouldn’t be fasting this long, or whatever he’s doing. He looks terrible. Maybe you should make him see the doctor.”

“He’s already seen the doctor,” Connor replied quickly, his eyes not leaving the door. “He’s fine. Or, he was, but- where _is_ he?” He realized how he’d spoken instantly and corrected himself. “Where are they?”

Elder Thomas, being the closest and most familiar with Connor, held his eye contact for a moment. 

The door opened then, and both men walked in. 

“See?” Elder Church said. “Everything’s fine.”

Connor could tell that everything wasn’t fine. Elder Cunningham was silent and watched Elder Price carefully. Elder Price stared ahead. He was pale, but that wasn’t new. There wasn’t anything that Connor could pinpoint was directly off, but something wasn’t right. He could feel it.

Elder Price smiled tightly in greeting to the other missionaries and walked to his room. 

“Where were you?” Connor asked, an uncharacteristic aggressiveness in his tone. “You’re past curfew.”

Elder Cunningham glanced at the clock, which read 9:03. 

“O-kay,” Elder Davis said, standing. “I think that’s our cue.” The Elders systematically stood and filed out awkwardly, heading to their bedrooms.

Elder Cunningham sat on the couch slowly, watching Connor with some kind of emotion that wasn’t a pleasant one.

“What happened,” Connor said, when it was just them. It wasn’t a question.

“No, why don’t you tell me,” Elder Cunningham replied, his voice higher and quicker than it should be. “He’s supposed to be my best friend. He’s supposed to be able to count on me and I keep letting him down. I know there’s something there and I don’t know what it is but I’m not an idiot and I’m not blind. So if you could just _tell_ me then I could stop guessing and start being a good companion.”

“It’s not my story to tell,” Connor replied carefully. “If and when Elder Price wants to tell you, he will, okay?”

“No,” Elder Cunningham replied. “That’s not how this is supposed to work. Look, I may not be the best Mormon, and I may have slept through most of missionary training school, but I know what I know. Elder Price is supposed to tell me what happened, and he hasn’t, because _you_ -”

His voice was getting faster and louder. He was upset. Something had happened, and Elder Cunningham was having a lot of feelings about it. Connor glanced around, but the other elders either couldn’t hear or were intentionally keeping their space.

“Lower your voice,” Connor said softly.

“Look, alright? I make a lot of mistakes and I’m not that good at reading people and I may not be a good companion, but _I_ was assigned to be his companion and I want to be, and God wants me to be. I broke our friendship. I ruined everything, and I just keep making it _worse_ , and I can’t _fix_ any of it if I’m Elder Thomas’s companion! The mission president can help us figure out assignments if we need him to. I want my room back.”

Connor rolled his eyes. Elder Cunningham making veiled threats was a lot to digest. Elder Price walked out then, tense, his hair disheveled from running his hands through it too much, Connor guessed.

What had happened?

Elder Price closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them. “It’s fine.” His voice was flat. Connor’s mouth opened. 

“Elder Pr-”

“No,” he cut him off. “Elder Cunningham is right. I’m going to bed.”

✥ ✥ ✥

Kevin walked back into his room as quickly as he’d walked out of it and closed the door behind him, leaning on it gently. He knew Connor didn’t take Elder Cunningham’s threat seriously, but Elder Cunningham was in a damn _state_ about what had gone down, and he didn’t put it past him for one moment to call the mission president if he thought that would help get their relationship back on track.

He moved to his bed and sat, cradling his stomach. It still hurt. It hurt so bad, and he was specifically aware of the fact that his body was getting used to the presence of the pain on an ongoing basis, which only added to his anxiety. 

He looked at the ceiling and breathed deeply, willing it to ease. 

The door opened and his companion, Elder Cunningham, that is, walked in cautiously, setting his bags at the foot of his bed.

“Look,” he said quietly. Kevin closed his eyes, breathing in all the patience he could muster. “I don’t know what happened out there, okay? I won’t touch you. I won’t touch you again, okay? I swear, I won’t. I’ll let you sleep and I won’t bug you, but if you want to talk, I’m right here, okay?” Elder Price lay down on his back, careful not to let the discomfort show too much.

“Okay,” he said. “It’s okay. I’m gonna get some sleep.” Kevin pulled his blanket up to his shoulders, clutching it tightly. He didn’t _think_ Elder Cunningham would mess with him right now, but he was consistently surprised when he did, and he didn’t want to take any chances.

Elder Cunningham nodded and began changing as Elder Price moved to his side, facing the door. He heard as Elder Cunningham lay down, as he turned off the light, as he rolled side to side, trying to get comfortable. 

He could practically hear the internal war going on in his companion’s mind about whether to push him further. He hoped if maybe he just pretended to sleep, Elder Cunningham would accept that tonight wasn’t the night for whatever confrontation was brewing.

Eventually, the soft snores of his roommate drowned out his thoughts. 

Without Connor’s company, Kevin had a harder time staying awake. He stretched in his bed, rolling to one side then the other. His eyes felt so heavy, but he was so afraid to fall asleep. This feeling of absolute physical and mental exhaustion coupled with the intense need to stay awake was even more draining, a cycle that didn’t feel like it would ever let up.

It became increasingly apparent, as the minutes ticked by, that Kevin wasn’t going to make it through the night like this. The pain would come in spurts, sometimes manageable, sometimes feeling like it was ripping him apart from the inside out. He’d clutch his pillow and bite down hard, counting up or down or just praying that it would ease. And it would.

When midnight came around, he sat up slowly, curling his legs under him. He wrapped his arms around his calves and laid his cheek on his knees, his teeth chattering as his jaw shook. He stared out the window with tears in his eyes that he knew without a doubt he couldn’t control. After the pain let up again, he opened his small drawer and pulled out his sketchbook.

He let his hands do the work, starting a portrait of the woman he’d met at the coffee shop. His eyes stung from exhaustion and his hand shook. He hated every line he made, unable to fully control what was going onto the paper. Still he pushed through, unsure of how long, until he backed up and looked at it. He shook his head and ripped it out of his sketchbook. He stood quietly and threw it in the trash on his way out the door.

He tip-toed to the kitchen and started, so quietly, trifling through all the cabinets. Connor would’ve been really careful about where he hid the coffee, but maybe it was in here. 

When he was sure it wasn’t, he started moving toward Connor’s room. He stood at the door for an eternity, debating what he should do, before deciding it was too risky to knock. He sat down there, next to the door, hoping Connor might come out for a bathroom trip, knowing full well he was awake on the other side.

He swallowed, closing his eyes. Just for a moment. 

When he opened them again, he couldn’t say if a minute had passed or an hour. He knew it wasn’t long, because he hadn’t started dreaming (and because he still felt absolutely terrible), but couldn’t gauge how long it _had_ been.

As he took in his surroundings, he first noticed that he was no longer alone. Connor sat next to him, watching him with an expression of pity and something else, his own eyes shrouded in darkness.

“What are you doing?” Connor whispered, his head leaning against the wall.

“I… I was looking… for… coffee.” Kevin felt stupid as he said the words, turning to his side so he was facing Connor. His head rested against the wall too, too much weight for his body to hold right then.

Connor smiled, shaking his head. “I thought you were a good Mormon boy.”

Kevin smiled too, shrugging. “I used to be,” he whispered. “But I’ll fall asleep without it.”

“You don’t think that might help? That it might make you feel a little better?”

Kevin shrugged again. He hadn’t fully unloaded what was happening in his head to Connor yet, but suspected Connor could and did relate to it on a real level, so the question baffled him. Of course if it were as easy as ‘sleep and feel better,’ he’d do it. He’d do it in a heartbeat. But it was complicated. 

“I can’t… I don’t know, it’s like I can’t turn it off. For so long, even after I wake up. I mean, when I’m sleeping, it’s terrifying… It’s like reliving that night, and I don’t know what’s real and what’s not real and it’s… over and over, sometimes with some special touches my brain throws in. But then when I wake up, it’s like my body and my mind don’t know how to separate it. It doesn’t just end there.” He looked at Connor for understanding. “It sucks,” he said with a chuckle that didn’t at all communicate humor.

“Yeah,” Connor replied, standing. “I know.” He held out his hand to help Kevin up and Kevin, for a moment, stared at it. He eventually placed his hand in Connor’s though, the assistance a decidedly welcome gesture. Connor gently opened the door to his room and disappeared into the darkness.

He came back out shortly after with coffee grounds in a small jar and handed it to him. They made their way silently to the kitchen, where he showed him how to make it, careful to clean everything meticulously afterward. 

They drank their coffee mostly in silence, Kevin grateful for the bit of energy and Connor grateful to have a few moments alone with him, knowing that something had gone down earlier and knowing that now these moments would be fewer and farther between. He wanted to ask all the questions, but the risk of being heard was too real. They’d figure this out. Soon.

They sat on the couch in the darkness, quiet. “Why don’t you close your eyes for a bit,” Connor eventually whispered. “I’ll wake you in twenty minutes.”

Kevin laid his head on the armrest, a flood of relief passing through his entire body as he finally allowed his eyes to close. The two men took turns for the next few hours, each stealing small naps, and neither of them having any nightmares at all.

When they eventually did separate again, they stood at Connor’s door for a moment. Kevin held out the small jar, not for the first time wondering _why_ Connor kept a stash of coffee. “Keep it,” Connor said. “For tomorrow. Or whenever. Just, umm… hide it well.”

“That wouldn’t be very truthful of me.”

“I think God has bigger fish to fry when it comes to the list of transgressions in this apartment. You’ll be alright.”

“Yeah.” Kevin looked briefly at the floor, then back at Connor with red eyes. “Tomorrow night? After everyone’s asleep…?”

“Tomorrow night,” Connor agreed.

Unable to wipe the stupid smile from his face, Kevin walked back to his room. He smiled as he opened the door as quietly as he could. He smiled as he stashed the coffee in his dresser drawer. He smiled as he picked up his sketchbook and flipped to a blank page, and he smiled as he started with the outline of those piercing blue eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to everyone who's coming back chapter after chapter! ilu.


	6. Chapter 6

“ _As long as you never act on it, it’s okay_ ,” his mom had told him quietly. At 9 years old, Kevin felt sure he was in love. She’d smiled, but it wasn’t the smile of a happy or proud mom, and he, even understanding little else, understood that. He didn’t act on it then, or ever. He’d make God proud. He’d do whatever the Church asked. And then maybe, he could have what made him happy.

✥ ✥ ✥

As the night drifted to morning, Kevin carefully closed his sketchbook, looking over to his roommate before rolling onto his side, eyes heavy but stomach feeling… alright, he supposed. He found he was having a hard time determining how to gauge _improvement_ when it came to pain. There was a steady state of discomfort, and sometimes it was worse, and sometimes it was unbearable. Beyond that, he wasn’t sure if he was actively feeling any better.

The time had flown by as he drew. He didn’t get far, instead spending small eternities on each detail, but it was, maybe, one of his favorites he’d ever done. His mom’s words, as he looked over the sketch, went through his head. They did that from time to time.

When the alarm went off, Elder Cunningham jumped out of bed quickly, his eyes immediately scanning the room and landing on Kevin’s with a kind of shocked but satisfied air about them.

“You stayed,” he said, maneuvering clumsily around Kevin’s bed. He made himself at home at the foot of it, being particularly obvious about the care was taking to not touch him. Kevin wasn’t going to complain.

“Yes,” Kevin replied, an easy smile that hid the pain inside of him. “Where did you think I’d go?”

“I don’t know. I guess I just figured you might find somewhere else to sleep. The couch, or like… the bathtub, I don’t know. I’m glad you stayed.”

Kevin nodded, unable to hide his wince as he sat up. He didn’t look at Elder Cunningham’s face, instead just silently hoping he didn’t notice.

“I’m - _not -_ gonna ask,” Elder Cunningham casually said, stretching. 

“I appreciate that.”

“But since we’re on the topic,” he quickly continued, “I did just want to apologi-”

“Please, stop. You don’t need to. It was a mistake, and I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Yeah, it’s just that-”

“No,” Kevin said, more firmly. His expression softened as Elder Cunningham’s mouth closed, his head tilting to the side. “Tell me about your day,” he said quickly. “Did you end up reading at all?”

They spoke casually while they dressed, Kevin keeping a watchful eye on Elder Cunningham as he once more bypassed selecting temple garments, and Elder Cunningham careful not to look at Kevin at all.

✥ ✥ ✥

Breakfast with the others was a blur; one in which Kevin focused primarily on staying awake and looking like he was feeling some approximation of 'okay'.

“I’m glad to see you’re feeling better,” Elder Church said genuinely, extending his hand casually as he prepared to follow Elder Davis out the door for the day.

Before Kevin even had a moment to react, Elder Cunningham pushed his way between them, once more painfully careful not to make any contact with Kevin.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he said, putting his hands up, palms out. “Elder Price does _not_ like to be touched.”

Kevin closed his eyes and shook his head, inhaling through his nose. Connor looked at Kevin, who just shook his head again in an _I don't know_ type of gesture.

“What?” Elder Church said, his hand dropping, looking past Elder Cunningham.

“No, it’s-” Kevin started, working to move past his companion.

“It’s okay,” Elder Cunningham whispered. “I’ve _got_ this.” He said it with a certain amount of pizazz that made Kevin feel as though the fight might not even be worth it.

Still, he attempted to interject. “No, I-”

“So I think you should probably get going, there are lots of people out there who are ready to learn.” Elder Cunningham’s voice boomed as he characteristically made too much eye contact with just about everyone. No one was intimidated in the least, and all eyes moved to Kevin.

“I just,” Kevin said, in answer to their inquisition. He thought for a moment about how to dig his way out, but he came up blank. He made brief eye contact with Connor before sighing in defeat. “He’s right. I don’t like to be touched.” It was an admission that he wouldn’t have otherwise made, but he couldn’t, in that moment, find a way out of it.

The elders, with some gentle guidance from their district leader, accepted this at face value. Once the remaining missionaries had filed out, Kevin collapsed onto the sofa, a small but hopefully not particularly noticeable grimace crossing his features.

Elder Cunningham came next to him, sitting down easily.

“That was a close call,” Elder Cunningham said, breaking the silence. Kevin leveled his gaze on his companion. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Listen,” he put his hand up as Elder Cunningham opened his mouth, “just for a second. I appreciate that you’re looking out for me, I truly do-”

“No problem, buddy. That’s what I’m here for.”

“Right, well, I just… um, I think we should try to be… let’s try to keep things between you and me as much as we can? I just don’t think the other elders need to know… the... things that you know… about me.” Elder Cunningham’s eyes narrowed but he nodded along. They both knew that Kevin had shared very little. 

“Right, right, okay. Totally. So, what do you want to do today?”

Kevin didn’t have the energy to plan or to teach. He didn’t really have the motivation either, if he was being honest with himself. So they sat on the couch, a blanket wrapped tightly around Kevin’s shoulders, and he listened to Elder Cunningham tell stories about _literally_ everything. He learned quickly that Arnold Cunningham was easy to listen to. He was the type of person who didn’t mind hearing himself speak and didn’t mind carrying the conversation. Kevin had little to add when talking about Star Wars and Dungeons and Dragons, but Elder Cunningham’s enthusiasm for the topics kept him awake enough.

“Do you ever think,” he found himself saying, once the topic of the baptism came up, “that there are some things in the book that don’t… make sense?”

Elder Cunningham nodded, seemingly pretending to toss this around for a moment. “I don’t think most of it makes sense,” he finally said. Kevin suspected his answer would be something of that nature, but nodded.

“But I also don’t think it matters that much,” Elder Cunningham added. A wave of nausea hit and Kevin held his stomach tightly, nodding.

“What do you mean by that?” he asked, his voice just above a whisper. God, he hoped Elder Cunningham would let it go.

“I mean,” he said, his eyes darting down to Kevin’s hands, “that like, it doesn’t matter. People will find meaning in anything, you know? Isn’t religion just another baloney construct that gives people something to hope for, some bigger purpose and reason for why things are the… way… they arrr-”

Kevin’s face distorted, a small noise escaping him as he clutched his belly. 

“Elder Price? You are really not looking so good.”

“I know,” he said, the familiar feeling of tears stinging his eyes.

“Okay, just,” Elder Cunningham’s hands hovered over him as he moved to his knees on the couch. “Just tell me what to do. Should I go find Elder McKinley?”

“No,” Kevin whispered. “What? It’ll… it’ll pass,” he said, letting his head fall back against the back of the couch as his eyes close, curling in on himself.

“Okay, yeah. It’s just that you really don’t seem to be doing so hot.” 

He knew he needed to pull it together. He just needed a moment, and it would pass. He coughed, the movement sending shooting pain through his ribs.

“Fuck,” he whispered, repositioning himself to a more upright position, hoping the change in posture would help settle his stomach. He let his elbows rest on his knees, keeping his head bowed.

“Elder Price,” Elder Cunningham whispered, his eyes widening briefly at the uncharacteristic word choice. “Is there… did the doctor give you medicine?”

Kevin shook his head, feeling the tears roll down his cheek. He quickly wiped it away with the back of his hand. “Can you just give me a minute? I’ll be okay.” 

When the pain and nausea finally did pass, it took a long time for Kevin’s stomach to settle. Elder Cunningham told him more stories, talking very slowly, very quietly, and watching his every move. He didn’t ask what happened, and he didn’t mention Elder McKinley. Instead, he talked about nothing of substance while frequently assessing Kevin’s physical state. For the rest of the day, he cringed every time Kevin stood too fast, walked too far, or did anything that he thought might be too physically exerting. For having no idea what had happened to him, he was certainly doing a good job of predicting what hurt. Which was, unfortunately, everything.

✥ ✥ ✥

Connor lay in his bed in the dark, staring at the ceiling, willing Elder Thomas to just _sleep_. He hated this. He hated every single thing about it, and there was very little in this world that he hated.

And still, if he could have spiked Elder Thomas’s drink that evening to knock him right out, he would have in a heartbeat. 

He couldn’t pull apart his own feelings right then. He was anxious, and he was sad, and he was… God, he was so excited. He was _so dang excited_ to see the tightly wound Mormon boy who was one flinch away from giving him a heart attack but who he couldn’t keep his eyes off.

They’d seen each other briefly at breakfast, wherein with much coercion Elder Price had eaten three pieces of a banana. They’d parted, and Connor had thought of literally nothing else for the remainder of his day. Elder Thomas had asked a number of times what was going on, and Connor had deflected without hesitation. It was going to come back to get him, but he couldn’t help it.

Knowing Elder Price was awake, fighting sleep, hurting, but maybe also a little excited, _one_ room over, was actively killing him.

Still, he waited in silence. He was well accustomed to this routine, and already knew every crack in the ceiling intimately. By 11:00, once confident enough that his roommate was deeply asleep, Connor rolled out of bed and made his way to the living room.

Elder Price was curled up on the couch, staring absently out the window. He had his sketchbook in his lap. 

“Hey,” Connor said softly, cautiously moving to sit next to him. 

Elder Price’s eyes were hazy as ever, a thin blanket wrapped around shaky shoulders in spite of the warm evening. 

“Hi.” Elder Price carefully leaned over to the side table and, with a visibly trembling hand, grabbed one of two lidded cups and handed it to Connor. He closed his sketchbook gently and picked up the second for himself, holding it with two hands close to his mouth, inhaling deeply.

“Thank you.” He smiled. “Are you cold?” Connor asked stupidly. Obviously he was cold. “Never mind,” he said quickly. “What are you drawing?”

“Do you want to see?” 

Connor nodded and moved a little closer to Elder Price. He fanned through the pages, finding the one he was working on. It was honestly breathtaking. Some type of party was happening, all of the people of Kitguli dancing and smiling, the village lit brightly. It was _alive_. It wasn’t any Kitguli that Connor had seen before.

“Wow,” he said, his eyes reaching Elder Price’s. He shouldn’t have been surprised by the new evidence that Elder Price was incredibly talented, but it was the first time he’d seen something he’d drawn. Elder Price closed the sketchbook and set it aside, taking a long drink. 

✥ ✥ ✥

“Bud,” Connor said, placing his tiles down easily. 

“Bud?” 

“Yeah, it’s a word. Arnold Cunningham is your best bud.” 

“Right. I’m not arguing its merit as a word. It’s worth six points.”

“Great, six to zero. I’m winning.” Connor smiled, selecting new letters.

“Okay. Thrust.” Seriously? Elder Price placed his tiles and Connor’s eyebrows raised slightly. God, he hoped Elder Price didn’t notice.

“Good word,” he said, forcing his face back to normal. 

Elder Price raised one eyebrow - he could do that? 

“Not that good,” Elder Price said, his forehead creasing with concentration. Oooh, he was competitive. More new information that surprised literally no one. 

“Hot,” he said, putting his letters down. 

“No, that’s… yeah, I mean… yes.” He paused, looking seriously at Connor. “Do you not understand how to play?”

“Yeah, hot. What’s wrong with hot?” 

Elder Price rolled his eyes as he looked back at his letters, focusing. Connor smiled. 

“Jezebel.”

“Oooh, well. Okay. Yeah, that’s a pretty good one.” He paused. “Slap.”

“No,” Elder Price said again, shaking his head. “Ep’s not a word, you have to… never mind.” He looked back at his letters. Connor was very specifically not allowing himself to think the thoughts he wanted to think, but he couldn’t keep himself from smiling.

“Thaws.” Elder Price laid his tiles, satisfied with his triple word double letter bullcrap. Connor cocked his head to the side, examining his letters.

“Fuggle.” Connor laid his tiles cautiously. Was fuggle a word? Had he made that up?

“What? What is _fuggle_?” Elder Price asked, suspicion in his voice. “That’s not a real thing.”

“Yes, it is,” Connor replied, indignant with the call-out.

“No, I don’t think so,” Elder Price said, shaking his head.

“Yeah,” he said again. “It’s like… it’s something sexual. You wouldn’t know.”

Elder Price laughed. “Use it in a sentence.”

“Yeah, like… I like to fuggle… things.” Oh, God.

“You… like to fuggle things? What things, specifically, do you like to fuggle?”

Connor felt his face heating up, but Elder Price was smiling, genuinely smiling, and Connor could handle whatever embarrassment brought that smile out. He was pretty sure fuggle was a word. “Well, _I_ don’t like to fuggle anything. It was an example.”

“Right.” Elder Price smiled as he looked back at his letters. Connor stared at him for a moment too long.

“What?” Elder Price asked, not looking up from the game.

“You’re so prickly,” Connor replied, with a teasing smile. 

Elder Price ignored that, instead keeping his concentration on what he was doing.

They continued for a while, much in the same vein. Every word being a brief fight, either something Connor made up, or something that wasn’t worth enough points for Elder Price to respect. Even with his spirits somewhat higher than they'd been, Elder Price looked like he was struggling. In part to stay awake, in part to hide the pain that Connor knew he was in. Still, he smiled genuinely when Connor would play a terrible word, and damned if it didn't warm Connor's heart a little bit every single time.

He was smart, Connor decided. As they put away the game, having lost by the hundreds (with an s), he found himself digging in a little bit about Elder Price.

“I was accepted into Harvard,” Elder Price said, when Connor asked what his plans were. “I didn’t want to apply, but my mom thought it would be a good idea. She knew I was going to do a mission first, but she was insistent. So I applied. Pre-med.”

“Oh, wow,” Connor replied. “So you like... know things.”

“No,” Elder Price responded. “I mean, I can study, and I can remember things, but I feel like now, more than ever, I don’t actually know anything. What about you?”

“I didn’t apply anywhere,” he said. “My parents wanted this for me, and I wanted to get as far away as I could, even if it was only for a couple years. Africa was a surprise, obviously, but I don’t hate it here.”

Elder Price looked out at the night sky, curling himself up once more, the blanket tight around his shoulders. “Yeah,” he said, blinking slowly. “Me neither.”

“Elder Cunningham said you were thinking of going home.” 

Elder Price shook his head, smiling. “No,” he replied, his face moving more toward a grimace as he set his cup down. “Elder Cunningham has an active imagination. I came here for a reason, and I rarely set out to do things and then not follow through.”

Connor didn’t doubt it for a moment.

“Well, the mission president called today. He postponed his trip to next week sometime, so if you _are_ feeling like you need to end your mission early, we’ll need to get in touch with him,” Connor said, testing the waters. What would he do if Elder Price did want to leave? That would be that, then.

Elder Price looked relieved at the news, but honestly, it made Connor nervous. He had secretly held out hope that when the mission president came, he’d be able to update him on Elder Price’s condition. Perhaps get some help in getting him to a doctor. 

“You don’t look happy about that,” Elder Price said. “What’s wrong?”

He was going to make him say it. He was going to make him say that he was failing as district leader by not reporting this to the mission president, and that he was failing as a friend by not setting up more medical care. That he was supposed to protect him, and that he was failing on all counts.

“You’re doing worse today.”

Elder Price looked surprised, but not angry. 

“Every day you’ve been a little better, and so I could justify what we’re doing here. Tonight… God, when was the last time you slept?”

“I slept last night,” he said easily. It wasn’t a lie, Connor supposed. 

“Elder Price-”

“Kevin.”

“What?”

“You can call me Kevin. That’s my name, you know?”

Connor stopped for a moment, his face softening. “Yeah, I mean, I _know_ that your name is… Kevin...”

“Then why ‘Elder Price?’”

“Kevin.” _Kevin_. Kevin. Kevin. “I-” Shit. He forgot what he was going to say. “I-” He shook his head to clear it. Elder Price, _Kevin_ , stared at him, waiting. “What was I saying?”

“I think you were heading toward telling me how terrible I look.”

Categorically untrue. Did Kevin think he thought he looked terrible? That certainly didn’t sound like something he’d think.

“No.” Pause. “Not that. What I was going to say was, you’re not sleeping at all. You’re barely eating. You look... tired. Tired isn’t even the right word. Exhausted beyond what any one person can handle, I suppose. Not terrible.”

Kevin smiled his sad, weak smile.

“You look like you’re hurting worse. You look like you’re ready to pass out, or scream, or… I don’t know.”

“So, what are you suggesting?”

“I think you need to see the doctor.” Connor knew that Kevin wouldn’t love the idea, but Kevin _had_ to see what he was seeing.

Kevin shook his head. “I’m fine,” he said, clutching the blanket tighter.

“Yeah, that’s what you keep saying.”

“Look,” he said. “Let’s give it… let’s give it a day. I’m sure I just need to rest. Tomorrow I’ll feel better.”

“And if not?”

Kevin swallowed, steeling himself for the words that were going to come out of his mouth next. “If not, I’ll see the doctor.”

The admission was a large one, Connor thought, something that Kevin wasn’t accustomed to giving. He didn’t strike him as the compromising type, and so Connor could accept that. Tomorrow. He’d figure it out tomorrow.

A quick glance at his clock said it was past 2:00 in the morning, and it felt like things were winding down out here. He grabbed the game and helped Kevin to his feet. 

Connor supported most of Kevin’s body weight as they made their way up the single step, across the living room, and onto the couch. He was fading fast, trembling with every movement, his eyes slow to blink.

“Alright, buddy,” Connor said. Kevin didn’t respond, but he looked at Connor. “It’s time for you to rest.” 

He nodded as his body collapsed into a pile on the couch, Connor guiding his head as he sat down next to him. He honestly couldn’t say how it happened, if it was intentional, if it was by accident, if it was an act of God himself, but somehow, some way, Connor wound up frozen in place with Kevin’s head on his lap.

_Should he move? Should he stay still? Should he scream for help? Run away? Find the nearest lake and launch himself headfirst into it?_

Connor’s hands hovered above Kevin’s still body, his eyes glued to him, every muscle tense and prepared to bolt. “Okay,” he whispered. “Alright, Kevin. This is fine. We’re fine.”

Kevin’s eyes were closed and every breath was accompanied by a slight tremor that ran through his entire body. Was he already asleep? Could he hear him? Oh, God. What was he _doing_?

Gently, he brushed the hair off of Kevin’s forehead, exposing the dark bruise and cut from that night. Connor was, very thoroughly, at a loss for how to navigate this. How had they wound up like this again? Did Kevin want this? Was Kevin remotely okay with this?

Kevin coughed a little, curling himself tighter, his arms finding his stomach. Connor let his left hand rest on Kevin’s shoulder, which felt safe. Shoulders are safe, right? Kevin was shaking, but his eyes were closed and his breathing was alright. The blanket cocooned him tightly. Connor swallowed, hard. Kevin was really _sick_. Connor knew he was sick, and he knew that he needed to help him, and yet he had no idea how at that precise moment. 

With his right hand still at Kevin’s hairline, he intentionally brushed his forehead, just for a moment. Was he warm?

He wasn’t burning up, Connor could say for sure. He was pale, not flushed. His forehead was… it was warm, right? Again, Connor let the back of his fingers rest against Kevin’s skin, avoiding the place where he was injured. 

“You’re warm,” he whispered, in case Kevin could hear him. “I’m gonna… I’m gonna feel your cheeks. I won’t hurt you, I just… I just want to know how bad it is.” He let his fingers brush against Kevin’s cheekbones, which were just as indistinguishably warm as his forehead. But it was a warm night, and Kevin could’ve been clinging to the blanket for security, really. 

With every breath, a tremble. Connor sat still, breathing, panicking, and partly just… he couldn’t describe it.

Connor stopped touching him then. It was one thing to feel his head for a fever. It was another to… push the hair off his face, comb his fingers through it, watch him sleep. 

And so he kept his eyes closed, thinking about how bad things had gotten. How only one week ago, Kevin Price was just a top-of-his-class missionary coming to save their hopeless little outfit. Every tremor that went through his body was a reminder, a warning sign that things weren’t okay, and that Connor needed to get him to a hospital. Tomorrow. He’d figure that out tomorrow.

Kevin’s body tensed and he dug his fingers into Connor’s knee, the tremors returning. 

“It’s okay, buddy,” Connor said, his hand making contact with Kevin’s back. He rubbed it gently, wondering if he could just… pull him out of the nightmare without waking him up all together. “You’re alright,” he whispered. After some time, his body stilled and his breathing once more evened out.

How he was sitting here pining over the most Mormon Mormon of all time was beyond him. Connor didn’t go for this type. This uptight, sensitive, going-to-save-the-world-with-or-without-you type. And yet here he was. Was he encouraging Kevin to doubt all of his beliefs intentionally? Was it self serving?

Kevin curled his legs impossibly tighter, his knees dangling precariously over the side of the couch. Alright. 

“Let's get you to your bed,” Connor whispered, guiding Kevin up as his eyes fluttered open, clearly disoriented. He got his arm under Kevin's and stood with him, Kevin wincing and moaning softly as his feet took his weight, only very slightly awake. His free hand went straight to his stomach.

“Wha-?” His eyes were so red, his skin so pale.

“Try to keep quiet,” he whispered, as he half-dragged him to his bedroom. With his free hand, he pushed open the door. Elder Cunningham snored softly, allowing Connor a breath of relief.

He laid Kevin in his bed gently, and Kevin immediately found his side, his hands right back to his stomach. Connor dragged the chair next to the bed, as close as it could be, and then closed the door softly. 

He removed Kevin’s socks, brought his blanket up over him. Watched as Kevin’s chest rose and fell, still too quickly. Watched as his face distorted in pain as he clutched the edge of his pillow tightly. 

He’d sleep tonight. And tomorrow, they’d get him help.

Careful not to fall asleep himself, Connor watched Kevin closely. He watched for the familiar tells of nightmares. Body tensing, changes in his breathing, hands fisting. When they’d start, he’d rub Kevin’s back softly, sometimes whispering to him that he was safe, that it was okay, that he was right there… until they stopped. And Kevin would calm down, and Connor would be happy. Tired, but overwhelmed with relief. This boy needed to _sleep_.

Connor sat at the edge of his chair, leaning his upper half onto Kevin’s bed. When the morning eventually broke, Connor allowed himself, for the first that night, to close his eyes, his hand resting on Kevin’s back.

He didn’t know how much time had passed before he woke up, but when he did, Arnold Cunningham sat on his bed, staring curiously at them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My continued thanks to everyone who's reading + extra thanks if you've taken a moment to leave a comment/review, as I very thoroughly enjoy getting to see your thoughts/opinions/etc.


	7. Chapter 7

“Oh, hey there, Elder McKinley,” Arnold Cunningham said impishly.

Connor sat up slowly. He’d deal with this. If he couldn’t, he knew that Kevin could. Elder Cunningham would do anything for Kevin Price and so falling asleep last night, while a careless mistake, wasn't going to be a devastating one. Connor was pretty sure. The first thing he needed to do was to make sure that he was okay. In the light of the morning, Kevin looked… frail. Connor walked around the bed carefully to the side that Kevin faced, still avoiding Elder Cunningham’s questioning gaze. 

He knelt next to the small bed and looked him over, his body curled so tightly and shivering, his arms still circling his torso protectively. There was a sheen of sweat covering his face, and Connor knew his top priority today was to get him medical attention. 

“Buddy,” he whispered softly to no one. He covered Kevin’s hand with his own and gently loosened his fingers, which clutched the blanket tightly. He had held out hope, through the night, that maybe Kevin was right, and all he needed was some sleep. In the light of the morning, there was no more pretending that that was the case. 

He brushed the hair off of Kevin’s forehead gingerly, resting his hands there for a moment. Kevin flinched at the contact, but his eyes didn’t open. Where yesterday, he was unsure, now there was no denying it. He was unquestionably warm. He rested the back of his fingers on Kevin’s cheek, on his neck. He stood anxiously, rubbing his hands against his thighs. 

Elder Cunningham’s face, just moments ago almost semi-accusatory if still lighthearted in nature, had morphed fully to one of concern. “I’m not gonna ask,” he said, a reminder to himself as much as to anyone else. “Just… tell me what I can do.”

“Can you grab him a glass of water?” Connor asked, his eyes not leaving Kevin’s shaking body. He felt the familiar burn of tears stinging his own eyes and sat on the edge of Elder Cunningham’s bed, elbows on his knees, staring hopelessly at his friend.

Elder Cunningham came back just moments later with a glass of water in his hands, a look of panic on his face, and Elder Thomas hot on his heels. 

“Elder Thomas,” Connor greeted his mission companion. He knew he needed to talk his way out of this, but he was just... there was only so much he could be worried about and right now, it wasn’t his reputation or his mission companion. 

“What is going _on?_ What is _with you?_ You’re sneaking out in the middle of the night, switching companions, and when we _do_ go out you’re barely even there! This isn’t-” Elder Thomas spoke loudly, more than a little outrage in his voice, before his gaze followed Connor’s and landed on Kevin. He stopped short. “Elder McKinley,” he said, his voice softer. 

Connor didn’t want to take his eyes off of Kevin. He felt the bed shift with his companion’s weight landing next to him, though, and with tears in his eyes, he was met with a look of concern from _his_ best friend. “Is he okay?”

Connor shook his head, fighting to keep the tears from falling. He swallowed hard.

Elder Cunningham sat next to Elder Thomas, three teenage missionaries side by side watching despondently as Kevin grimaced in his sleep. 

“He got sick in the middle of the night,” Connor eventually said, feeling their eyes on him but not looking up from Kevin. His breathing was shallow and fast. His fingers wrapped tightly around the blanket once more. The lie slid easily from Connor’s mouth, the rules that once governed his behavior growing hazier and hazier. “I came in. I stayed with him; I needed to make sure he was okay.”

Elder Thomas nodded, not pushing. He knew. He _knew_ it wasn’t completely true, and he knew it wasn’t completely right. Elder Thomas knew Connor better than anyone in this house, and what he _didn’t know_ , Connor figured, he at least suspected. But Connor knew Elder Thomas, too. And Connor knew that even as a young Mormon who cared a great deal about the gospel he was preaching, he was accepting of Connor’s… _flaws._ They talked very infrequently about them, but he was always there to listen, always there to remind him that God loved him. And he’d be there through this, too. Perhaps Connor should have confided in him sooner.

Kevin groaned then and rolled slowly to his back. Without him consciously trying to hide the pain he was in, it was considerably more obvious. Connor was prepared, but the others were not. Kevin’s hand clutched at his stomach tightly, a sort of gasping-hiss accompanying the movement.

His blue eyes opened slowly, a welcomed sight for Connor. It was 7:30, which meant they’d slept through breakfast, and that Kevin had slept almost five straight hours. Not enough.

“Hey,” he said, soft as always, but desperate to bring Kevin’s attention to the fact that they were not alone. Kevin looked at the two new sets of eyes staring back at him with an expression of uncertainty, before finally landing his gaze on Connor. 

“Hi,” he responded, voice gravelly. He pushed himself up slowly, both men painfully aware of their audience in that moment.

There was a pronounced silence that fell over the room. Elder Cunningham spent the majority of his time looking around the room at anything other than the people in it, the others looking at one another, waiting for someone to speak, he guessed. It should be him. 

He opened his mouth-

“You don’t look well.” Elder Thomas broke the silence. “I mean, I think that much is obvious. I don’t… it’s not just a stomach thing, is it? Is it a disease? Were you injured?”

Hand shaking and unable to control it, Kevin drank his water.

“Yes,” Kevin eventually said. Connor’s eyes snapped up to meet his. “I... '' Kevin closed his eyes and swallowed back another sip. “I don’t want to talk about it.” Deep breath. “I was… I… attacked, I guess.”

To Connor, and with a slight hint of accusation, Elder Thomas replied, “Did you tell the mission president? He can hel-”

Kevin shook his head, cutting him off. “No. I don’t want to tell anyone, it’s under control.” This was the first time contacting the mission president was put directly on the table. There had been stories, recent stories, even, of missionaries being sent home without hesitation following assaults. It was at the back of Connor’s mind, and while perhaps not high on anyone else’s radar, it certainly on Kevin’s. 

“It doesn’t really seem that under control. I don’t want to presume to tell you what you need, and I’m sure you’re well aware of this, but you probably should see a doctor.”

Kevin opened his mouth to speak but it was Connor who replied. “Yes,” he said quickly. “We’re going, umm,” he paused, “today. I actually- I needed to speak with you all about that.” 

He glanced quickly at Kevin, who didn’t seem to be preparing to argue with it, and instead just looked… sad. Connor stopped looking at him then, knowing if he allowed himself to, he’d waiver. “I’m going to speak with Mafala, to get an idea of where we should go. I just… in my absence, could you… keep an eye on things? Just for a day or two.” He was looking at Elder Thomas.

Elder Thomas’s jaw dropped. “This is… very much… against the rules.”

“Look. We need to take care of each other. If that means breaking the rules sometimes, then we break the rules sometimes. I’ll be gone for a day. Maybe two. If the doctors say longer, we’ll figure out a new plan.”

Elder Cunningham watched this exchange with silent amazement. Elder Thomas with resigned acceptance. Kevin, well. Connor couldn’t quite pinpoint what was happening in Kevin’s mind. But it seemed like the worst was over.

Elder Thomas shook his head and stood, extending a hand to Elder Cunningham. “Looks like it’s you and me today,” he said, his voice resolved and clear if somewhat agitated. 

“Uhhhhhhhhh,” Elder Cunningham said, a noise that was, in stark contrast, _very_ unsure. He took his hand and stood, but it was to Kevin that he looked for reassurance. 

“Thank you,” Kevin said, directly to him. “I appreciate your help.”

Elder Cunningham smiled a little and nodded. “That’s what friends are for.” As the two walked out to get their day started, Connor stopped them. 

“Please um,” he said, rising to his feet. “Please keep this all between us.”

Elder Thomas rolled his eyes. “I want the record to show that I think this is a terrible plan. That we should be trusting one another, not keeping one another at arm’s reach. That we should be using the resources we’re given, as a bunch of _kids_ in a foreign country with no access to literally anything.” 

“Yeah,” Elder Cunningham added. “And I want the record to show that I support whatever Kevin decides and if Kevin doesn’t want to tell the mission president then I am down with that plan.” Elder Thomas rolled his eyes again and, in spite of himself, Kevin found himself smiling as the two left the room, closing the door behind him.

“Are you okay?” Kevin asked, his legs dangling off of his bed. 

“Yeah, it’s fine. We’re already breaking all the rules, what’s one or two more? Elder Thomas is a good guy, he just… this is a lot. You know? We’ve always bent rules here and there, but it’s a lot to ask of him.”

Kevin nodded, his lips dry and cracked. His eyes closed as he clutched his stomach, shivering. Connor sat down next to him and took his hand, squeezing it tightly. “We’re gonna get you some help, okay? Hang in there.” Connor looked him over, standing slowly. “Why don’t you lay down for a little bit. I need to go to the village to find Mafala, figure out where we need to go. I’ll be back in an hour, so if you do fall asleep, it probably won’t be long enough to…”

Kevin nodded and curled up, laying himself back down on his side. “Can I get you anything? More water? Food? Umm... tea?”

Kevin shook his head and closed his eyes, grabbing his pillow once more. Connor nodded to himself and cracked the door on his way out.

✥ ✥ ✥

He made quick work of the walk to town, beelining straight to the shop in the market where Mafala worked. Mafala gave him several options for hospitals to take the very sick elder to, all of which between five to eight hours driving distance. He offered to loan him a rickety Toyota from the early 90s, which he promised worked reliably but occasionally gave some trouble starting up.

Connor declined, but reminded himself that he owed these people. That they were there for each other, and there for them, and he needed to find a way to pay them back for their help.

With directions in hand, Connor stopped at the Kafe and grabbed himself a cup of coffee before heading back to the house. Again, he was shown a specific amount of concern over the wellbeing of his friend. The woman at the coffee shop was particularly worried about his declining health, and Connor found himself promising he’d be on his feet and would visit the shop in no time.

When he got home, he peeked in Kevin’s room, who lay still and slept soundly enough. He went to his bedside and watched him breathe, perhaps a moment too long. He smiled at the small figurine on the nightstand and started putting together some things. 

He packed himself a bag. A change of clothes. Some cash. His ID, passport, and credit cards. Packets of instant coffee. His Bible. He ate a quick breakfast before he moved to Kevin’s room and woke him gently, however reluctant to disturb him from a somewhat peaceful sleep. He hated himself for it, but they needed to get going. 

“I can pack a couple of things for you,” Connor whispered, kneeling next to him. Kevin slowly dragged himself out of bed, his eyes unfocused and clearly disoriented. Connor moved to help steady him, an action that Kevin readily accepted.

Kevin groaned as they walked together. They didn’t make it far before Kevin collapsed onto his knees, desperately grabbing the small trash can next to the door. He vomited, his whole body shaking so hard as he doubled over, clutching his stomach. Connor knelt next to him, helplessly, warring over whether Kevin would find any comfort in his presence. Ultimately, he began rubbing his back, uncertain but somewhat encouraged as the trembling seemed to ease up.

“I’m sorry,” Kevin gasped, swallowing. “I’m… sorry.” The second time, he said it with a little more strength. 

“Please stop saying you’re sorry,” Connor said, helping him back to his feet. “Why don’t you get yourself cleaned up? I’ll pack you a couple things.”

Kevin nodded and they made their way to the bathroom, where Connor very reluctantly left Kevin to fend for himself. He kept the door open on his way out.

✥ ✥ ✥

Packing for Kevin was easier said than done, when it came to it. He felt like he really couldn’t and shouldn’t look through his drawers, although any other district leader would feel not only comfortable, but invited to do it. Was it an invasion of privacy? 

Realistically he knew Kevin’s drawers would be immaculate, perfect, and wholly conforming to the expectations of a Mormon missionary save for that one jar of coffee that he had stashed somewhere. So what was the issue? 

What did he expect to find in those drawers that he felt was such an invasion of privacy? He sat at the foot of Kevin’s bed, trying to justify what he knew he needed to do. And when he couldn’t, he found himself poking his head into the bathroom and asking Kevin.

Of course, Kevin didn’t care. He barely answered his questions. Where his passport was. Where his ID was. Where his health insurance card was. (They were all in the same place, it turned out, in the second drawer of the nightstand). He packed him one set of clothing, should he pack his sketchbook? He didn’t. He didn’t feel comfortable touching it without permission, and didn’t want to interrupt Kevin again. From the top drawer of his night stand, he grabbed his books and set them in the suitcase. He knew well that the likelihood of Kevin Price picking up any of them was immeasurably slim in his current mindset, but just in case.

And that was it. 

By the time Kevin emerged from the bathroom, clean, dressed, looking like hell but still undoubtedly the most attractive man Connor had ever- stop-, Connor had a packed bag and the lone key to the car that sat painfully unused for the last three months. 

“I have to call him,” Connor said, as Kevin sat down next to him. “If we take the car, he needs to know.” Connor met Kevin’s eyes, which held a mixture of concern and frustration, but there was also understanding there. “I won’t tell him anything he doesn’t need to know.”

Kevin nodded, closing his eyes. Was this it? How hard would he press? The mission president in Uganda was… stretched thin, to say the least. The under-served, impoverished countries tended to be more demanding missions mentally, and he had a wide net that he was responsible for. Connor had only met him once, only spoken with him a small handful of times, both of which were almost unheard of among most district leaders. He thought he may be able to swing this.

And so, at 12:00 PM, one week after Kevin Price was violently attacked, Connor finally spoke about it to the mission president. Okay, speaking about _it_ was a stretch. He told the mission president that Elder Price was sick, had been vomiting, and had a fever. He said it didn’t seem too serious, but he’d like to bring him to the hospital for care, and that Elder Thomas would take the lead until they returned that evening, or perhaps in the morning. He explained that he and Elder Cunningham agreed to being temporary mission companions. Kevin watched Connor’s side of the conversation with tired, pained eyes, that spoke novels about his own anxiety surrounding the phone call.

When it was over, relief flooded over both of them. The mission president had granted explicit permission for use of the car, with an enthusiastic ‘ _good work,'_ and a _‘call if it’s anything serious.’_ Sure. He could do that.

They considered waiting for Elder Thomas and Elder Cunningham to arrive home before leaving, to give them a final set of directions, and mostly for Connor to gauge how likely Elder Thomas would be to remain silent. He felt somewhat confident that Elder Cunningham would help keep him in line, but he had this building feeling in the pit of his stomach. The more people who were involved, the more likely it would be that someone would step out of line and alert the mission president. Perhaps, though, his phone call this afternoon would aid if that did happen. A quick glance at Kevin's deteriorating condition was enough to bypass the extra wait and get on the road.

✥ ✥ ✥

The directions had mostly been to follow the signs on the highway to Kampala, and you’ll get there. It was a seven plus hour drive if he didn’t get lost, but he wasn’t feeling like that was a high likelihood. They began the drive largely in silence, Kevin curled up on the passenger seat, his blanket draped over his body, his head against the window.

Connor tried to convince him to lay in the back seat, but he vehemently refused. He’d always enjoyed driving, and wanted to get to see whatever of Uganda he’d be able to. 

Twice they pulled over for Kevin to vomit, both times sending waves of panic through Connor. “ _You’re gonna be okay,”_ Connor would whisper, rubbing his back. _“We’re almost there_ ,” he’d say as he’d helped lift the sick boy into the car. 

He watched him like hawk, grateful for the moments when Kevin would let his eyes close, waking him any time he stirred. 

At around 8:00, on the home stretch for the hospital, Kevin took a turn for the worse. Tears flowed freely down his face as he clutched his stomach tight, shifting his weight over and over and over trying to find relief. Connor kept his eyes on the road and held Kevin’s free hand tightly. Fingers intertwined, covered in sweat, and shaking through every muscle in his body. Connor gripped the steering wheel with his free hand, pressing the gas pedal just a little harder. 

“T-tell me… a s...tory,” Kevin said, his grip on Connor’s hand tense.

Connor didn’t know why he chose the story he did, but he told Kevin about Steve Blade. About his first gay tryst, or _gay thoughts_ , as his parents consistently corrected him. They’d given the word “thought” a very loose definition.

He talked about how he’d been infatuated with Steve, and that, in another life, they would have had some type of romantic relationship. He’d been too young, though, and a large amount too Mormon. But those feelings never went away. 

He described Steve Blade the way he remembered him, but he had trouble. Partly because his hand was so tightly wrapped in Kevin Price’s, and partly because he’d spent so much time turning those feelings off, that he just… they faded, he supposed. Where he used to remember the exact hue of Steve’s eyes, for instance, he could now only see those bright blue eyes of Kevin’s. He kept that part out. 

“Anyway,” he said. “Steve came out the following summer to _everyone_. He dated boys throughout high school, and he recently, I believe, married.”

“Did you? Come out?” Kevin asked, glancing briefly at him. 

“No. I’ve uhh… I don’t know. I guess I’ve just always hoped I’d find a nice Mormon girl who didn’t mind my traitor brain. And body.”

Connor smiled. He knew, as of three days ago, that was going to be a lot harder than he always thought it’d be. 

“Yeah,” Kevin said softly. “Me too.”

Holy. Connor spared a quick glance at Kevin, squeezing his hand just a little tighter, as he pulled the car off the exit to downtown Kampala.

✥ ✥ ✥

Inside the city of Kampala was different from anything else in Uganda so far. He’d seen it briefly at the airport, on his first day, but he’d been a different person then. Now, it was amazing just how different things out here were. There were large, modern buildings, cars, businesses and houses. Restaurants and shops lined the streets, many closing down for the evening. “Look,” Connor whispered, pointing to a huge statue. Kevin did. He didn’t smile, but he watched the city with a sort of fascination that made Connor think maybe, just maybe, the distraction would ease his pain.

When they got to the hospital, Connor felt a mixture of anxiety and… comfort. It wasn’t like the hospitals he was used to in America and on television, but it was clearly a well-funded building equipped to provide decent quality medical attention. When they got inside, things moved quicker. 

The hospital staff took Kevin away before Connor could even truly figure out what was happening. He tried to tell them… he tried to explain that he didn’t like to be touched. He found himself yelling down the hallway after them, with tears stinging his eyes, that he didn’t like to sleep. To please be careful with him, that he was sick and he was weak and he was tired. That’d he been hurt. He tried to tell them, but they took him away, and he found himself telling everyone he could find to _please_ just make sure they knew. To please just make sure someone _told them_. 

They handed Connor a clipboard to fill out. Insurance information. Personal information. Mostly things that Connor didn’t know, but some things that he could figure out. His hand was shaking as he filled out the forms, his breathing itself coming with difficulty. He needed to get it together. He could turn most unpleasant things off easily enough, he was an expert at it. And yet, they’d taken Kevin away. And they didn’t _know_ that he was afraid to be touched, or that he was afraid of coming to the hospital, and what were they going to do to him? He went through every emotion. Regret. Fear. Resolution. More regret. He prayed and prayed and prayed that God would protect Kevin this time. That he’d be okay, and that they were being gentle with him.

He prayed that God would guide him through this, and he prayed that Kevin knew that God would forgive him and protect him. That this was all going to be okay.

He filled out whatever he could of the paperwork, wiping away any stray tears that fell on the fresh ink, leaving blobs of evidence that he could not, in fact, be entrusted to do this task with any amount of composure. He gave them Kevin’s ID and passport and insurance card and they made copies and asked him questions. He asked if Kevin was okay. He asked what was happening. Multiple times, he was told that they’d come talk to him as soon as they could. He just… he just needed to know if his friend was okay.

By midnight, on his sixth cup of coffee, his sister’s borrowed suitcase next to him with their meager possessions, someone approached him.

He stood immediately and the doctor smiled, extending his hand. “Are you Connor McKinley?” he asked.

“Is Kevin okay?” was all he could say.

As they walked through the halls of the wing of the hospital, the doctor explained that Kevin had an infection, that he was dehydrated, that he was suffering from exhaustion, and a gambit of other things that Connor didn’t quite fully attend to one, because they became very medical and he didn’t know what they meant and two, because the moment Kevin was in his sight, he could think of nothing other than how to help him feel better.

Kevin lay on his side, on the small hospital bed. His eyes were red from crying, his body was still, though. No shaking, no tension. Connor knew it was medicine doing what medicine does, but he was just so damn _relieved_ to see that Kevin was… Kevin was okay. 

“We’re going to keep him overnight at minimum,” he heard the doctor say distantly. “We’ll see how he’s doing in the morning and reassess.”

Connor nodded without looking back and approached the sweet missionary boy who was going through hell. He looked absolutely miserable, but there was some color back in his skin. There was some comfort in his posture. There was hope. 

“Hey,” he whispered. Kevin’s eyes met his for the first time, a sigh of relief escaping him. He started to push himself up and Connor held out a hand. “No,” he said, “don’t… don’t try to sit up, just-”

Kevin sat up anyway. As expected.

Connor covered the distance between himself and the bed quickly and sat down on the edge. “Buddy,” he said, reaching for his hand. Instead, Kevin leaned into his body, circling his arms around him, pulling him in close and burying his face against him. 

There was a split second of uncertainty where Connor didn’t know if he could return the hug, before he wrapped his arms tightly around Kevin.

With little warning, Connor felt the familiar sobs begin rolling through his friend. He felt his tears on his neck and on his shoulder and he held him tighter, his frail body shaking under his arms.

Connor put his hand on the back of Kevin’s head, pushing his fingers into his hair, holding him as close as he could. He rubbed his back, and eventually, as the panicked sobs that wracked Kevin’s body minutely shifted into something less, Connor felt hope. They sat there like that for a small eternity, wound together, holding each other tightly. If he could have done anything in the world to help him feel better, he would have. He couldn’t keep watching him cry like this, Kevin choking and shuddering and clinging to him tighter than anyone had ever clung to him before.

With his arms wrapped around Kevin, he rested his cheek against the top of his head, clutching him impossibly tighter. He couldn’t even be sure what specifically drove the decision, but as tears began rolling down his own cheeks, he pressed his lips into Kevin's hair. He knew in that moment he’d never let him go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eternal thanks to everyone reading this!
> 
> Note to self + those still with me: this is not a procedural medical show and we'll get back to our regularly scheduled program (missionaryangstangstangstangst) next week.


	8. Chapter 8

It took time for Kevin to calm down, even with the medicine, with a team of people doing everything they could to help him, and with Connor’s arms wrapped so tightly around him, it still took time. Connor held him like that, feeling Kevin’s chest rising and falling against his own, praying for nothing other than reprieve for his friend. 

When Kevin eventually released him, Connor felt his absence immediately, the blanket of warmth that had been shrouding him ripped away. 

Kevin’s breath came choppily as he ran his hands through his hair. “I’m sorry,” he finally said. 

“Hey,” Connor whispered, grabbing his hand, which lay lifelessly in his lap. Kevin didn’t immediately react. “Please, look at me.” 

He did, those red rimmed but bright blue eyes telling an entire story of their own. Unsure of what else to do, Connor grabbed the small glass of water from his side table and handed it to him.

“You alright, buddy?” 

Kevin shook his head. His fingers trembled around the cup as he slowly scooted backward, repositioning himself on the bed. Connor adjusted the blanket so it covered him, not for one moment letting his hand go. He helped his friend ease his weight down onto the thin mattress and took the cup of water as Kevin automatically rolled to his side, eyes heavy and body radiating the most pure exhaustion that Connor had ever seen. 

Connor spent the next four hours running his fingers through Kevin’s hair and talking to God, asking for a mixture of both forgiveness and guidance. Mostly forgiveness. 

How it could be wrong when for the first time in his life it felt _right_ was beyond him. He knew that it was, though, and that he needed to take some time to work out where that sat with him. 

✥ ✥ ✥

_“Deep breath,” the doctor had said, the stethoscope against Kevin’s back. Kevin clutched Connor’s hand tighter, the panic in his eyes so pure that it completely shattered him. Connor had never seen that type of fear in real life and it made his stomach turn over. Every moment he spent with Kevin Price was changing him in a very permanent way._

_“Take a deep breath,” the doctor said again, with a little more directness. Connor couldn’t tell if Kevin was fully comprehending what was being asked of him or if he was intentionally ignoring the doctor, but he suspected Kevin didn’t have full control over the depth of his breathing at that moment. The doctor had a look of concern on his face._

_“You’re okay,” Connor had found himself whispering, holding both of Kevin’s hands at his lap. That morning had been the first time that they had made Connor leave. It had taken some serious convincing, not only on the part of the doctor and nurses, but eventually from Kevin himself, before Connor had begrudgingly stood and moved to leave the room._

_“The doctor wants to keep him through Friday,” the nurse had said as Connor spared one last reluctant glance at his friend on his way out the door. “Just to be safe.”_

✥ ✥ ✥

By the time Friday morning rolled around, both Kevin and Connor were in an intense state of physical and mental exhaustion. Connor had encouraged Kevin to sleep as often as he could, and they developed a sort of symbiotic co-dependent arrangement in which Kevin would _only_ sleep if Connor was by his side, making sure that no one touched him, and Connor would set alarms to wake himself up every thirty minutes or so. In the brief moments where Kevin was awake and feeling okay, he’d read the books that Connor had bought him from the gift shop and he'd listen to Connor tell stories. Sometimes he’d share his own, but it was infrequent, as Kevin Price had tapped his mental limit. It was in that mindset that Connor shelved the conversation he’d been wanting to have until Kevin was in a better place.

As Kevin lay alone in his now familiar bed, clutching the books as though he were a small child and they were a stuffed animal, nearly back to a state of composure, he reflected on the past few days. He didn’t understand what specifically was wrong with him, only that every single time someone touched him, his body had a visceral reaction that he could neither control nor predict the intensity of. Being a patient at a hospital, it happened a lot, and he hated every second of it.

The nightmares were bad. The nightmares were filled with terrible, indescribable, horrific imagery, but the nightmares he could avoid. The way he felt when someone touched him… it was like nothing he’d ever felt before. It was like his body was being ripped apart all over again. It was intense pain coupled with intense fear and he couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t think and he couldn’t make it stop. He recognized that he needed to push through this, and this was a temporary state and that he _would_ heal eventually, right? Or was this his new reality? 

He was ready to leave. To leave the hospital. Honestly, to leave Africa. To find a little city, population under 1,000, back in the United States where he could work out his thoughts and be safe and feel _okay._ It had been made abundantly clear that God had abandoned him, if he’d ever even been there. Kevin closed his eyes and forced those thoughts back, finding himself apologizing to God _again._

At the height of everything, as he willed himself to calm down that morning, he could hear the doctor and the nurse speaking quietly. He wasn’t sure if they knew he could hear them, but words like ‘post traumatic stress,’ and ‘severe panic attacks,’ were being thrown around as if he wasn’t right there. 

They had tried to give him strategies when they needed to touch him; they had tried to keep his eye contact, to talk with him, offered to hold his hand. Gave him things to think about. Discussed medication. Ultimately none of it had worked, but in time, they had finished what they needed to finish and when they were certain he was on the path to being okay, they had left him to regain his composure. 

The sound of the door opening caused a wave of nausea to crash over Kevin. He closed his eyes and counted, slowly, and found himself not praying, but begging God to keep him safe. He knew God wasn’t listening, but there was a hopelessness that had settled upon him. There wasn’t anyone else to help him. So he pleaded with his abandoner. Harder than he’d ever prayed for anything, he prayed that God would just _help_ him. Just a little bit. To please, God, just _hear_ him, just-

“Hey.” Kevin’s eyes snapped open at Connor’s voice and he let out a shaky breath. “Are you alright?”

Tears of relief stung at his eyes but he kept them contained, he nodded, and pushed himself up. Connor sat down on the edge of the bed and opened his suitcase, handing Kevin some fresh clothing.

“Okay. Okay, good. You’re good.” Connor nodded, reassuring himself. He smiled a half smile and let out a breath full of anxiety. “The doctor said we can leave soon. They just have some papers for you to fill out and we have to grab a few things from the pharmacy, but then you’re free.” 

There was a pause, in which Connor opened his mouth to speak and closed it several times, as Kevin watched with a sort of bemused fascination. “I actually wanted to ask you something,” Connor eventually said, his voice higher than normal, the cadence faster. 

“Okay,” Kevin said cautiously.

“It’s just that-” Connor wouldn’t make eye contact with him. Kevin watched as his fingers fidgeted tirelessly. “It’s just about something you said the other day, actually.”

Kevin smiled in spite of the storm going on inside of him. “Okay?” He’d said a lot of things, but he thought he could pinpoint the specific thing Connor had on his mind. It’d been hanging over them for the past few days.

“Yeah, it’s just- it’s just, I- I don’t feel like I- I don’t-”

Kevin smiled wider, pulling his knees up to his chest and hugging them. This was so far out of his wheelhouse and yet, he trusted Connor. Connor, the one person in this world who he could share this thing with. Connor stuttered over his words for several more seconds before apparently locating some resolve and releasing the handle of his suitcase, turning directly to face him.

“Okay,” Connor said, doing the thing where he shook his head a little bit, resetting himself when he’d gone too far off track. Kevin, through the pain and exhaustion and emotional throttling of the past week, found himself smiling genuinely.

“Okay,” he said.

“Stop, just-”

Kevin nodded, trying to force his smile down but ultimately failing. It was a much needed departure from the past three days. “Yeah, okay. Sorry.”

“I just- I need to know. I need to- what did- aahhhh.” 

A little laugh did escape Kevin then, hurting his belly a little bit but maybe, on some level, helping his soul.

“That thing you said the other day, when I was talking about Steve? It was probably nothing, I think I probably misunderstood, but I-”

Kevin swallowed back his smile and nodded. God, Connor was… he took a breath.

“Can you just- what did you mean by that?” Connor ran his hands through his hair anxiously.

“Yeah,” Kevin said. “Of course.” Kevin nodded. Connor would understand him. Connor would, on a very real level, understand what he was going through. “What I meant is-” he paused, thinking. Really thinking, as Connor grabbed his hand. It wasn’t that he had to think about what he’d meant by that. He knew what he meant, there wasn’t a question there. But if he went down this road, there was no turning back, right? If he said this, out loud, at that moment, it would be a thing that he could never take back. Connor would be the second person that he ever told this to, and while his relationship with God was broken right now, the idea of being one of God’s greatest disappointments was demoralizing.

He closed his eyes. He felt… he felt so many things right then. He felt sad. He felt nervous, and anxious, but not the same anxious he’d been feeling. This was something different, a piece of him that wasn’t changing, but that was coming to the surface. This thing, that he’d spent the last ten years wrapping up in a little box and sealing tightly and guarding with everything he had; this thing that up until a couple days ago he thought would die with him. Could he do this?

He opened his eyes and was met with Connor’s, blue and clear and… hopeful. 

Could he do this? He could. In those last moments before he did it, he thought about his relationship with God. Not the delicate thread that currently kept them connected, but their relationship over the past nineteen years. The God who Kevin had believed loved him thoroughly and would care for him no matter what. He uttered one more plea of forgiveness to _that_ God before he started speaking.

“I meant that I have gay…” He closed his eyes briefly before opening them, swallowing. “I meant that I think… I mean, I guess… I guess I have gay thoughts, too." He shook his head once. "I mean, I'm- I'm gay, too.” That last part was a whisper.

Kevin’s heart pounded wildly in his chest as he watched Connor’s reaction closely. Connor smiled wider than Kevin had ever seen him smile. A smile filled with hope. The kind of hope that, if Connor was anything like him, he hadn’t felt in a long time. And Kevin shared in that feeling, even knowing he may never feel it again. Even knowing he could never act on it if he were to rebuild his relationship with God. Even knowing that, in all likelihood, he’d have to choose. He still felt it, and he was still thrilled by that feeling.

“I was hoping you might say that.” Connor squeezed his hand and Kevin, while at war inside, felt a sense of relief wash over him. He allowed himself, at that moment, to feel like maybe there was a world in which he could get everything he always wanted.

✥ ✥ ✥

As they made their way back to the car, Kevin seemed physically on the mend, if mentally thoroughly destroyed. He didn’t speak, but he carried his three small books carefully, held closely to his chest as though they were his only possessions on this earth. His hair was wild, his clothing fitting looser than it once had and wrinkled. But the doctors had promised he was on the right track. Conditionally.

Those conditions being to take antibiotics and a slew of other medications. To eat. To drink enough water. And to sleep. Similar to the warnings that Gotswana had given, there was a promise that if they failed to meet these needs, Kevin would wind up back at the hospital or worse. At their reaction to that, the doctor’s tone had shifted into a plea to just bring him back if there was any question about their ability to see the conditions through. 

Connor didn’t doubt that if it came to that, it’d be one of the hardest sells of his life, as he pulled out of the parking garage.

✥ ✥ ✥

“There’s a church in Lira,” Kevin said, pointing to the sign on the highway, his eyes snapping up from his book. They’d been in the car for several hours, Kevin reading to Connor. The Catcher in the Rye. 

_Scandalous_ , Kevin had said when he’d opened the bag that first day and looked over his gifts with tired but thankful eyes. 

Connor hadn’t read it but wasn’t surprised. Most mainstream media was considered scandalous to some degree.

Still, Kevin had smiled and read over the back. He’d read it before, he said. He was excited to read it again, specifically at this new junction in his life.

Connor had asked him if he would read it out loud, and he agreed. And so for the last three hours, Connor had gotten to listen to Kevin’s voice, if not his own words and thoughts. His voice was confident, with almost a melodic cadence to it. He would read a couple chapters and then take a small break. He’d talk about Holden Caulfield, and how he was at one point the antithesis to Kevin himself, but that he was warming up to him. He’d talk about _themes_ and _history_ and _allegory._ Connor would try to keep up, but Kevin was impassioned by this, by pulling apart the author's words and the meaning behind them. And while Connor wasn’t unintelligent by any means, Kevin’s love of literature was evident in the way his eyes lit up while he spoke.

And then he’d go back to reading.

So when his voice abruptly stopped as they passed the sign for Lira, Uganda, Connor knew there was weight behind it.

“How do you know that?” he asked, sparing a glance at Kevin.

“I know where all the churches are nearby. After they’d told me I’d be going to Uganda, I spent that whole night trying to figure out what I’d do here. Didn’t sleep at all, coincidentally. At the top of my list was to find a place to help keep me connected to God.”

“Don’t you feel connected to Him in your soul?”

“Yes,” Kevin said easily. “I did. I do. I- yes. But sometimes, if I’m going through a really tough time, it’s just nice to have somewhere to go. Somewhere peaceful, where I know no one’s judging me for who I am. Or for what I believe in.”

There was a duality to Kevin’s words. Had he buried that piece of himself so deep that he truly believed that? That the _church_ was the one place he could be himself? 

“Do you find yourself struggling with your relationship with God often?” Connor asked, eyes straight ahead.

“Are you asking as my district leader or my friend?” 

Connor once more peeked at Kevin. “You don’t have to ask that.”

“Yeah,” Kevin said. “Honestly? I haven’t always had the purest relationship with God. I mean, I’ve always done my best to make God proud, so that one day maybe I can get what I want out of my life, but sometimes I lose focus; I think things I shouldn’t think, sometimes even say things I shouldn’t say. My parents taught me to come to church when that happened. Told me that would bring me closer to God and that it’d help keep my compass aimed North, I guess. Can we stop there?” Kevin’s tone was neutral. 

“Sure, if you want,” Connor replied, distracted by Kevin’s words. 

“I’d like to. I’d like to just… see if… Yes. I’d like to stop there.”

Connor nodded and smiled. “Do you know where, specifically, it is? There’s a map in the back.”

It turned out that Kevin had, in fact, memorized the addresses of all of the LDS churches within a few hundred mile radius. It was enough information for them to figure out how to get there, with the help of the map and a few locals along the way.

By the time they rounded the corner to the large building, it was dusk, and it was hard to say with certainty how late the church would be open. 

“We may not be able to get in,” Connor said, as they pulled the car up to the seemingly empty building and parked.

“It’s okay,” Kevin said. He got out and stretched, showing that slice of his stomach. “It just feels good to be here, right?”

Connor nodded and together they approached the closed doors. It was a newer building, not ornate or ostentatious, but plain and unassuming. There were no cars or people in sight, but as Kevin took a deep breath and pushed on the large brown door, it surprisingly opened.

They walked through the foyer quietly, both taking in their surroundings with a certain amount of reflection on the current state of their faiths. The white walls held no decoration, but beyond the foyer was a familiar enough line of pews. As Kevin made his way into that room, Connor held back, watching him carefully. He regarded the lost Mormon boy as he slowly walked through the aisle, breathing in this church, and selected a seat somewhere toward the front. Kevin sat down slowly, careful still of his injuries. 

He held his copy of the Book of Mormon tight, flat in his lap. He bowed his head and he sat like that for what felt like an eternity. 

Connor spent that time doing some reflecting of his own. He didn’t pray, but he felt the power of being in that church and understood innately why Kevin wanted to come here. There was nothing necessarily significant about the building itself, but knowing that this place was used by so many people to worship and to pray and to seek guidance and seek help did give Connor a certain sense of connection to God that he felt, in the last couple of weeks, had been missing.

Eventually, he approached Kevin slowly and sat next to him. He couldn’t hold his hand. He couldn’t do anything that would bastardize this experience for him, as much as he wanted to. He didn’t look at him or talk to him, but he closed his eyes and he prayed then.

He felt Kevin’s hand cover his own, fingers intertwining with his. He glanced up, allowing himself to break that privacy barrier for the first time. Kevin’s eyes were closed, but tears flowed freely down his cheeks. 

“I can’t be here,” Kevin finally said, his eyes guarded. He turned to look at Connor and shook his head. “I can’t do this right now.”

Connor squeezed his hand and nodded, standing without question. As they walked toward the exit, Kevin turned to the front of the church and fell to his knees, the tears continuing to stream down his face. Connor took a step back, giving Kevin all the time and space he needed to work through whatever he needed to work through.

He went to the foyer, walking around aimlessly, exploring what this church offered. When Kevin finally came up next to him, they silently left. The moment they’d cleared the doors to the church Kevin collapsed onto the ground, hands in his hair and shoulders shaking. Was he crying?

He didn’t think so. 

He sat down next to him on the front step to the porch and put one arm around his shoulder, pulling him closer.

“Missionary of the year, huh?” Kevin said, looking up at Connor. Connor smiled and shook his head, and allowed himself the gratuitous action of sweeping the hair off Kevin’s forehead. He’d been wanting to do that for the last three days.

“You ready to get going?” he finally asked. Kevin nodded and stood.

✥ ✥ ✥

It was close to midnight when he pulled the car into the small garage. The remainder of the drive had been spent in silence, Kevin clutching his book tightly and watching the world pass by, Connor dwelling on what exactly happened at that church. 

Connor looked at Kevin, who’s head rested against the window in sort of a sleepless haze.

“We’re home,” he whispered, hesitating. Kevin smiled and nodded, yawning as he lifted himself from the car.

The lights were on as they walked up the single step to the front door. Why were the lights on? The voices grew louder as Connor shoved his key into the door. What were they doing awake?

“Welcome home!” Elder Neeley said, the first to make eye contact with Kevin as he walked in the door. The others all stood from their various positions, the bucket in the middle of the room filled with little papers, those same little papers scattered about. Were they having a game night? This was late.

“You all are up late,” Connor said, perplexed.

“Yeah,” Elder Cunningham said, practically skipping over. “We made you guys dinner. We wanted to stay up until you got home.” He looked to Kevin, his very favorite person in the world. “You honestly still look terrible. I thought you’d look better.”

Kevin smiled and nodded. “Thanks, pal.” Elder Cunningham sat and patted the cushion next to him.

“What are you guys playing?” Connor asked, as the elders all sat slowly sat. 

“Mormon Charades,” Elder Church said, reaching for a paper. 

Kevin and Connor exchanged a look when Elder Cunningham stepped in. “It’s just like regular charades, but instead you act out a verse from the Book of Mormon, and whoever guesses which verse gets the points.”

“But we’re not keeping score,” Elder Thomas said, scanning the room. Of course, the elders were in varying degrees of agreement on that, but Kevin was sure that there were at least a few people who were, in fact, keeping score.

Still, he allowed himself to relax. He took a glass of juice from Elder Davis. He let his body sink into the cushion behind him, Connor sitting close but not too close to draw attention. With Elder Cunningham on his other side, Kevin felt reasonably secure being sandwiched between the two elders who best knew to keep their distances.

He watched with amusement as the elders took turns acting out verses from the Book of Mormon. As he looked around the room at the eight men who had stayed up late to welcome him home, he felt some kind of weight being lifted. He felt, for the first time, some sort of sense of community, as these men shouted out verses and laughed and ate.

✥ ✥ ✥

The game wrapped up fairly quickly, everyone so used to their strict bedtime that they didn’t last long. “We’re glad to have you back,” Elder Michaels said, putting a supportive hand on Kevin’s shoulder. Connor watched in disbelief as it happened. Kevin had seen it coming but let it happen. He was almost positive Kevin had seen it coming. And he let it happen. Why? Kevin tensed immediately following the movement. He doubled over, leaning on the counter for support, the color draining from his face. His eyes shut tightly, a pained gasp escaping him.

“Whoa,” Elder Michaels said, pulling his hands back. “Sorry, dude.”

He looked frantically between Connor and Kevin. Kevin ash white and quiet, Connor also barely capping his own anxiety.

“Hey,” Elder Michaels said, taking a step away. “Hey, I’m sorry. I - I’m sorry. Are you okay?” To Connor, he said, “He’s freaking out.” 

Connor nodded. “He’s alright, it’s okay. I, uhh. I appreciate you guys waiting up, really. Why don’t you head to bed?”

“I really am sorry,” Elder Michaels said, taking another step back. His hands were in the air where they were most visible, some type of defense mechanism. They’d all seen the catalyst to the panic.

“All good,” Connor said. God, he just needed them to go to bed. Kevin leaned his weight against the counter, his fingers gripping the edges, white-knuckled. Connor watched in his peripheries as he tried to breathe through whatever was happening inside of him, and kept his focus on getting the others to bed.

“What’s _wrong_ with him?” Elder Zelder asked, coming up next to Connor. Jesus, they needed to go to _bed_. 

“I think I hurt him,” Elder Michaels said, “I think I… I think I really messed him up.”

“No,” Connor interjected. “No, you’re fine. He has… the hospital. Aye, it’s- it’s okay. He has… I just don’t know if I can- can we just talk about it in the morning? With Kevin? Can you guys just head to bed?”

Elder Michaels looked truly shaken up, the familiar grief written all over his face a reminder to Connor that these men - these boys, really - they didn’t know anything about Kevin, or about what Kevin had been through and what, according to the doctor, he’d continue going through, perhaps for the rest of his life.

“It’s okay,” he said again, as Elder Michaels skirted past him. He kept his head down and his shoulders hunched. Elder Zelder patted his shoulder, sparing a glance back at Kevin. He said something under his breath that Connor couldn’t make out, but it didn’t matter. They needed to get ahead of this. 

Connor watched Kevin from the other side of the kitchen, clearly in the throws of a panic attack but not completely detached from the world. His breathing was erratic but he didn’t seem to be fully gone, not like that first night. Not like the first time Connor had seen him like this. Still, the other missionaries lingered, and so still, he could not go comfort him.

“Please, head to bed,” he said again to the remaining men, holding each of their eye contact for an extra moment. It was Elder Thomas who lingered behind.

“You should go help him,” he said, when it was just the two of them.

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. Whatever… for whatever reason, I guess, he feels better when you’re around. You shouldn’t let him suffer trying to hide whatever you’re trying to hide.”

Connor pushed down the perhaps somewhat irrational anger he felt toward his mission companion and best friend. He opened his mouth to speak, but Elder Thomas continued before he had a chance.

“No,” he said, holding up his hands. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean… stay with him tonight, alright? No bullcrap. No sneaking in and out. He needs to get healthy, and you do a good job helping him. As district leader. You do a good job as district leader.” He paused. “You’re a good guy, Connor.”

Connor closed his eyes tightly, fighting back tears for the nine thousandth time this week, letting his weight fall against the wall behind him. When he opened them, Elder Thomas was gone. To bed, he imagined. It didn’t matter right then. He moved quickly to Kevin’s side, hand hovering above hand for a moment.

“Kevin?” he said softly, watching his friend’s breaths come in chaotic spurts. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

When Kevin didn’t react, Connor carefully put his hand on top of his. Kevin flinched and pulled away quickly, moving a few feet back. It broke his heart just a little bit more. Kevin’s fingers were white as he clutched the countertop, his eyes closed and his breathing forced. 

“Breathe, buddy,” Connor said. He didn’t move closer to him. He stood his ground and talked to him, because he didn’t know what else he could or should do. Panic attacks, the doctor had said. Severe, earth shattering panic attacks. 

The kind of panic attacks that would destroy him if he let them. He already wasn’t sleeping, he already wasn’t eating. He already couldn’t handle being touched.

As Kevin’s body calmed, his connection with reality coming back in slow waves, Connor breathed out a sigh of relief, all he really could do at that moment. 

✥ ✥ ✥

They sat on the couch side by side, Kevin’s hands wrapped in Connor’s, exhausted and overwhelmed. They’d been like that for a while.

“How long has it been for you?” Kevin eventually asked, both of their eyes so heavy and bodies worn with exhaustion.

“Mmm?” 

“Since you slept,” he clarified. “How long?”

“Oh,” Connor replied, thoughtful. “I suppose… I guess it’s probably been years now, since I slept through the night. My body has just kind of accepted it for what it is.”

“Is it nightmares?” Kevin asked, sitting up a little bit. 

“Yeah. I feel like ‘nightmare’ is a weak word for it, though. When I told Elder Thomas about it, when we first started the mission, that’s when we coined ‘Hell Dream.’” Connor chuckled, one of his fonder memories being sitting up late trying to explain how the nightmare wasn’t a nightmare, and the two whispering in their beds as they brainstormed the new name. “I felt like… like I had to tell him,” he explained, as he sat up too. Kevin regarded him carefully, his tired eyes, the slouch in his shoulders. “I uhh… sometimes, I guess, I’d wake up screaming. It freaked my parents out. I wanted him to know. If I accidentally slept too hard, it’d end like that.”

Kevin nodded, sipping on his coffee. “I get that.”

“I know you do. I... Elder Thomas is very… he’s very passionate about his work. They, we, all are. But he also cares deeply about his friends, and in an effort to understand me better, I guess, he’d ask me questions. Constant questions, for the first several weeks. Every morning, if I’d had a nightmare. For every yes, what was it about. For every no, what did I do to stop them. I couldn’t ever quite pinpoint how to stop them, and they came on when I was like fourteen, and so I just… I stopped sleeping, I guess. And now it’s just… it’s just the way I am.”

Kevin yawned, nodding. “And your body just eventually adjusted?” he asked, the question clearly driven at least partially by the need for reassurance. 

“Yes,” he responded, as Kevin lowered himself back down, curling up tightly. Connor watched him, smiling. “But that won’t be you. We’ll get you through this.” Kevin’s eyes were so tired, and with the doctor's words ringing in the back of his head, Connor knew it was time to try to get him some sleep.

Connor set his alarm clock for 45 minutes out. Not enough time for him to have a nightmare, and not enough time for Kevin to have a… a panic attack. 

“You take the couch,” he whispered, moving to stand. The chair had been his place for over a week now, and he’d been okay with it. Kevin grabbed his hand, hanging onto it. 

“Why don’t you- we can- umm.” Kevin made a brief moment of eye contact before his eyes darted elsewhere. “Will you lay with me? Just until I fall asleep,” he said quickly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I wonder if maybe I’d sleep better. If you… I don’t know. It’s a stupid idea.”

Connor, despite the somersaults in his stomach, kept his composure. Kevin moved forward a little bit, making more room for him, and Connor laid himself down behind him, so painstakingly slowly. Kevin was tense and trembled slightly, and Connor was tense and… just really fucking tense. He pulled the couch pillow a little closer and let his head fall onto it as Kevin’s body relaxed, kind of molding himself to Connor. Jesus. 

“Is this… is this okay?” Connor asked, and Kevin nodded. He inhaled the scent of Kevin’s hair. “Are you o-”

“Yes,” Kevin said again, as Connor cautiously, so incredibly cautiously, draped his free arm over Kevin's stomach, pulling their bodies closer together. Kevin took his arm and wrapped himself tighter in it, closing his eyes and curling himself up further. Connor, for his part, focused merely on keeping himself calm.

He begrudgingly let go for a moment, just long enough to drape the small blanket over them, before once more wrapping his boy up in his arms, and letting his heavy eyes shut, finally.

It was the fastest Connor McKinley had ever, in his life, fallen asleep. With that weak, shaking, Mormon boy tight in his arms, his world was at peace.

✥ ✥ ✥

“Guys?” It was Elder Cunningham who woke them, whispering but with the same veracity as his normal voice. “Elders? Elder Price? Elder McKinley!”

Kevin stretched, squinting in the morning sun. _What time was it_? 

“It’s almost 6:30,” Elder Cunningham said, eyes darting around the room. 

Kevin sat up, looking back at a very soundly sleeping Connor. Almost 6:30? What happened to the alarm? To the nightmares? Had they slept all night? He was disoriented, but he knew that getting to their respective bedrooms with a quickness was the only way this ended remotely okay.

“Connor,” Kevin whispered, gently rousing his friend. For all the time Connor spent worrying about him, he took a moment to let the regret of waking Connor really settle over him. Still, if they were caught, whatever this was, it ended immediately. They’d be sent home. They’d never see each other again. They needed to be more careful. By a lot. He shook his shoulder gently. 

“Time to get up,” he whispered. Connor’s blue eyes opened slowly, the same disoriented haze evidenced by his expression. “We’ve gotta get up.”

“What time is it?” he asked groggily.

“It’s almost 6:30.” 

Connor moved quicker, checking his watch. “It must not have gone off,” he said, standing with Kevin and Elder Cunningham as they made their way to their rooms. “I’ll see you tonight.” It wasn’t a question, or even a request. It was a statement of fact, Kevin realized, as Connor shut the door behind him quietly. 

Kevin couldn't suppress the smile on his face as he turned to Elder Cunningham. “Awkward,” was all Arnold Cunningham said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

“So, Connor, huh? Just, like, a first name basis now. Just doing that,” Elder Cunningham said, trailing behind Kevin. Kevin smiled. Elder Cunningham closed the door behind him and together, they began getting ready for the day.

Kevin felt more alert than he had in a while. He knew he hadn’t slept long, but it had been peaceful. He tried not to think about what that meant. If he could only sleep when held tightly against Connor’s body, that would complicate things infinitely.

“You know,” Elder Cunningham said, coming up next to him. “You can call me Arnold, too. Or Arnie.” 

Kevin smiled again and looked at his companion. “Okay,” he said.

“And I can call you Kevin?” 

“If you want.” It didn’t matter that much at this point. Kevin recognized how of all the things he’d done and thought over the last week, God would certainly not care about his companion addressing him by his name. 

“Well, this is great news. Because I was thinking it was feeling a little stuffy around here lately, and so I think this will really help lighten things up. Kevin, Connor, and Arnold. The three bes-”

“Did anything exciting happen while I was away?” Kevin asked abruptly.

“No.” Elder Cunningham responded. “Elder Thomas runs a tight ship. Lots of hard work, not a whole lot of time for fun activities. Butttttt,” he dragged out the word as he trifled through his nightstand.

Kevin turned from his dresser to watch, guarded. 

“I got this for you!” He pulled out a small bag as Kevin sat on his bed, taking up a seat next to him but far enough away that Kevin felt confident he wouldn’t touch him. “Well, we all did. But I picked it out.”

“Wow, thanks, pal.” Kevin regarded the small bag carefully. It was one of those Christmas bags you’d get from the clearance aisle of a bargain store in July, and had a blue and yellow bow attached to it. “What’s this for?”

“Just a get well soon gift. And welcome home.” Elder Cunningham’s eyes were bright as he glanced at the bag, encouraging Kevin.

He opened the card first. On one side, an image of a theme park perhaps dating back to the 80s or 90s. Kevin wasn’t quite sure what he was looking at. He turned it to the back, where all the elders of the house had written short words of encouragement and signed their names. There was a folded note, as well, on loose leaf paper, that Kevin presumed was from Elder Cunningham.

“You can look at that later,” he said, gesturing instead to the bag. Kevin carefully placed the note and the postcard into his nightstand. He pulled out the newspaper that was functioning as tissue paper, which revealed... a small Christmas ornament? 

He laughed. “What is this?” he asked, turning the little ornament in his hand. It was some type of cartoon dog that was standing in front of something that vaguely resembled a castle.

“It’s Disney!” Elder Cunningham said excitedly. He practically bounced.

Kevin shook his head and smiled. “No, it’s not.”

“It is, the woman in the market said it is!” Elder Cunningham’s brows furrowed. “It is, isn’t it?”

Kevin opened his mouth to speak but closed it, smiling. “Well, thank you. This is really kind of you.”

“Is it not? Disney?”

Kevin shook his head, but his smile was genuine, and that seemed enough for Elder Cunningham. “I don’t think so.”

“Well, I found it in the market and thought you’d like it.”

“I love it. Thank you,” he said again as he set it on his nightstand next to the figurine his mother had given him. He didn’t allow himself to think too deeply about that.

“So what’d the doctor say?” Elder Cunningham asked, stretching across Kevin’s bed.

“That I need to take it easy. Eat more. Sleep more. Etcetera.” 

“Yeah,” Elder Cunningham said. “Well, yeah. Obviously. Do you feel better? Are we going to go teach some Mormon stuff today or are we hanging in?” He paused. “Or,” he said openly, as an afterthought, “am I still with Elder Thomas?”

“No, we can leave for a little bit. Fresh air sounds nice.”

“Okay, cool. Cool, cool, cool.” There was a pause before Elder Cunningham broke the silence. “Can I tell you something?” He looked eagerly at Kevin, crossing his legs under him. Kevin nodded hesitantly. “Okay, cool, because I’ve been dying to tell you all week BUT I need you to remain calm and remember that we’re mission companions and best friends, even when I mess up.”

Kevin nodded, unsure of what to expect but knowing it could be literally anything.

“I want to do it.”

“Do what?” Kevin asked.

“You know,” Elder Cunningham said, cocking his head to the side. “ _It._ ”

“What like… it, it? Like you want to have… sexual… inter…” Elder Cunningham nodded. “With who?” Kevin realized as he said it that he should be more cautious of the surprise in his tone. Of all the directions he thought this conversation might be headed, this wasn’t it.

“Okay, see, this is the crazy part, because I actually think I want to do it Naba- she said I can call her that, by the way. Didn’t just make that up.”

“Naba… lungi?” He remembered her from his first day. She’d been really kind, one of the few people who didn’t brush off every word Kevin had to say. She’d seemed genuinely interested in what he was trying to tell her, and he remembered being explicitly grateful to her. “Does... she want to?” This time he was more careful to keep the skepticism at bay.

“Yep, I think so. But if you think this is a terrible idea and that I will absolutely burn in hell for it, just tell me, and I will reconsider. Our Lord can be quite the judgmental one, you know?”

“Yes,” Kevin said. “I am aware.”

“But,” Elder Cunningham added, an unfamiliar hesitation in his voice. “If you want to do it with Elder McKinley, I think that’s cool, too.”

Kevin shook his head, taken aback momentarily. He shouldn’t have been. It made perfect sense that it’d be Arnold Cunningham to go right there, no warning, no lead up. “What?”

“No, I just meant. I meant I think God will judge us the same, and I’ve been thinking, maybe he’s cooler than we give him credit for, you know?”

“Wait, what?” Kevin said again. He backed up further, standing when he hit the headboard.

“I mean, whatever. Even if you don’t want to do it with Elder McKinley,” Elder Cunningham must have seen Kevin’s internal alarms going off, because he started backtracking immediately. “I didn’t mean to say that you want to for sure. Just that if you did, you could, and I wouldn’t be mad. And I don’t think God would be mad either. And I’m 100% sure that Elder McKinley wouldn’t be mad. But we for sure do not have to talk about this right now if you don’t want to. You have your stuff to work out-” his eyes were wide as he tried to read Kevin, who stood uncomfortably, “-and I don’t think anyone needs to rush into anything. Just wanted to make sure you knew that I have your back no matter what.” 

Kevin didn’t speak; he didn’t know what to say. 

“But also,” Elder Cunningham continued, “I think it’s important to note that I think you should be really, really careful. If you guys keep, like, spooning, in the living room, it’s only a matter of time before someone other than me catches you, and I’m just not sure if everyone’s going to be cool about it.” There was an awkward pause. “So what do you think? About the thing with Naba?”

✥ ✥ ✥

Connor stared at the closed door a little too long, hoping the others didn’t notice. Breakfast was well underway, and still Kevin and Elder Cunningham were locked in their room. Were they coming out? Was everything okay? The others were quiet, all focused on their food and sparing the occasional glance at Connor, who would divert his attention elsewhere.

“Can we just please talk about last night?” Elder Michaels finally asked anxiously. He looked tired. 

At the same time, the door opened, and a somewhat healthier looking Kevin emerged, followed closely by Elder Cunningham. The dark bags that had circled Kevin’s eyes for the last week were lighter, his face a little fuller. It could have just been the way the morning sun hit him or the way he carried himself, but whatever it was was giving Connor some much needed hope. Like maybe the three days at the hospital, the countless panic attacks, the needles and the medicine and the doctors and the screaming and the tears, maybe they would have some positive impact after all. He forced his thoughts away from those memories, and tried to focus on the more tender ones.

“Hey guys,” Elder Cunningham said, pouring himself a bowl of cereal. Connor watched Kevin closely as he carefully selected a few pieces of fruit and a glass of juice and sat. He stared straight ahead for a moment before looking directly at Elder Michaels.

“Hey,” he said, as if on cue. “I just wa-”

“I am so sorry,” Elder Michaels cut him off. Kevin closed his mouth and smiled, tight lipped. “I don’t know what happened last night but I did not mean to hurt you or to upset you.”

“It’s okay,” Kevin said after a moment. “It’s not your fault.” He seemed acutely aware of all of the eyes on him, but Kevin was okay in the spotlight. Hell, Kevin was _used to_ the spotlight. “I actually thought maybe we could all talk through a couple of things this morning.”

The elders all nodded, some exchanging words of encouragement, all of them caring. Truly caring about their companion and what he was going through.

Kevin stumbled through a half-hearted introduction; that he wasn’t comfortable giving specifics, but that he’d been injured and that there were long term ramifications to that, specifically continuing with, “I have umm… panic attacks.” He cringed at the word, as if it in some way lessened him. It didn’t.

“Wow,” Elder Michaels said, letting out a breath. “Is that what that was.”

Kevin blinked slowly, but nodded. “Yes. They’ve… yes. They seem to happen umm, basically… any time someone touches me. Or, sometimes out of nowhere, I guess.”

The elders nodded. “That’s scary, what does it feel like?” Elder Zelder asked.

“I don’t-”

“How long does it take you to get over them?” Elder Neeley interrupted.

“I-” Kevin closed his mouth, looking at the ceiling light.

“Guys,” it was Elder Thomas who spoke. “Let him talk.”

He swallowed, sparing a thankful glance at Elder Thomas. “I just- I’m okay. The doctor thinks I’ll get better, I just need to be careful until then. I think I’m mostly… I’m mostly okay, I just need to be careful about… I guess about not letting anyone touch me, for a little bit.” His voice was uncharacteristically fragile. The difficulty with which he chose his words was evident to everyone in that room.

“Okay,” Elder Thomas said. “We can all be more careful about not touching you.” He looked around the room at the others. 

“Can I say something?” Elder Church said, raising his hand. Kevin rodded, face tight with anxiety, shielding himself from whatever question was coming. “If you haven’t worked on dealing with them yet, I have this book that I could loan you. It might not help, but my mom got it for me when I was going through something similar... I mean, it wasn’t exactly the same, but for when I have panic attacks.”

Connor looked at Kevin, who looked mostly taken aback by the admission. They all did, truthfully. 

“And I have a therapist you can call, if you want. You can use my cell phone,” Elder Church added. “She’s really good, she won’t judge you or whatever, she may be able to help some?”

Kevin let out a visible breath and sat down, nodding. “Thank you,” he said, his voice just above a whisper. “I... really appreciate it.” 

“Okay,” Connor said, when the room had been silent enough that he was sure no one had anything to add. “So we have some ground rules. Number one, no one touches Elder Price. Number two, everyone respects each other’s boundaries. Anyone objections to either of those?” The silence overwhelmed the room.

Kevin threw a thankful glance at Connor, nodding silently and smiling, relieved that the conversation was mostly over.

✥ ✥ ✥

The day had passed uneventfully. Connor wasn’t sure what specifically Kevin had done to keep Elder Cunningham occupied, but he didn’t think they were likely to have done any teaching. They’d briefly exchanged pleasantries in the evening before falling silent and letting the rest of the elders share their stories. Connor had watched as Kevin and Elder Cunningham whispered back and forth, keeping their voices low, the casualness of the conversation encouraging him if nothing else. And then they’d left for bed, and Connor once more could think of nothing else, waiting for the moment that Elder Thomas would just _fall asleep_ and he could make his way to Kevin’s side, where he’d longed to be all day. 

“Just go,” Elder Thomas said tiredly, his back to Connor as he lay on his side. The room was pitch black and stone silent. It had been for almost two hours. “We both know you’re going to, and knowing that you’re over there praying for me to fall asleep or die or whatever is stressing me out.”

He was pretty sure his tone was joking. Connor sat up and turned on their small light. Elder Thomas followed suit.

It was midnight in the small town of Kitguli, Uganda, and for whatever reason, it was inside that little room lit only by a table lamp that Connor felt something stir inside of him.

“Can I tell you something?” he asked, watching closely as Elder Thomas sat up and slowly moved next to him on his bed. 

He nodded, hesitantly.

“I know this is… not okay. I know, _I know_ that God, my parents, you, all of my friends, the church… I know how much of a disappointment I’ll be. Or worse.”

Elder Thomas shook his head, opening his mouth to speak.

“Hang tight,” Connor said. “I need to get this out, and then you can tell me that I’m going to hell, and that I’m taking Kevin Price there with me.”

Connor did not look at Elder Thomas, instead wringing his hands and looking straight ahead.

“I, uhh... “ Deep breath. Did he need to do this? Did he even want to do this? And why, in that moment, was he so motivated to do it. For acceptance? Because he had the sneaking suspicion that maybe, of all the elders in this house, Elder Thomas would not judge him too harshly. “I really like him.”

Connor spared a glance at Elder Thomas, who’s face bore some combination of sadness and resignation, but not surprise. 

“I know,” Elder Thomas finally said. “I mean, I thought so.”

“Do you think the other elders know?”

“No,” he replied. “And I think it’s probably better that way. Until you work out how this will impact you, how it will impact Elder Price… and you guys are on the same page with it. It won’t be something you can take back. Once it’s out there, it’ll really be out there. Someone will call the Mission President. Someone will call your parents. It all comes out, if any of it does.”

“I don’t think it’s something I’d want to undo.”

Elder Thomas nodded. “Well, for what it’s worth,” he said, “I still think you’re a good guy. And Bishop Smith back home says that God loves all his children, and that so should we. Obviously, I think most of us are still… still working on getting there. It won’t sit well with everyone. So just, whatever you do, I guess just… remember that I think you’re a good guy.”

“I just don’t know that Elder Price is ready, you know? Even if he says he is, even if he acts like he is. And I should trust him to know himself, and I do trust him, but… he’s really going through it right now.”

“I know you. I know that you won’t push Elder Price into anything he doesn’t want. But you have to accept that he might choose God, you know?” 

Connor nodded, a possibility he was definitely working on accepting. They sat silently, next to each other, for a moment, lost in their own thoughts. Connor, specifically, on how to make sure he wasn’t pushing Kevin away from the one thing that might mend his broken soul. 

“You’ll do right by Elder Price,” Elder Thomas said as he stood, going back to his bed. “And I think you’ll probably do right by God, one way or another.”

As Connor stood to leave, Elder Thomas said, “Connor?” He paused. “Feel free to kick Elder Cunningham out of his room again. He snores, but I’ll take one for the team.” Connor smiled, turning off the small lamp and walking out.

✥ ✥ ✥

The living room was empty and dark, but the front door was slightly cracked by the time Connor left his bedroom. His heart beat rapidly as he willed himself to calm down. He could be normal, he could be a good friend, he could be a good companion and district leader. He didn’t need to have Kevin the way he wanted to have him.

He scanned the porch, and the moment his eyes found Kevin, he was instantly taken aback. 

Kevin Price was a sight to behold. He sat on the ledge of the porch, legs crossed under him, bent over his sketchbook. The muscles in his back worked visibly as his pencil moved effortlessly across the paper. Against the backdrop of an unseasonable rain that had come on out of nowhere, the moonlight hit his hair and his face and his hands, illuminating the-

_Jesus, Connor. Stop._

“Hi,” he said cautiously. The atmosphere surrounding these moments seemed to have shifted irreversibly, and that wasn’t lost on Connor. What had previously been concern and protection was now, while still both of those things, tinged with longing. They’d done this dance earlier in the week, but then the hospital had happened, and then last night had happened, and suddenly the tides had shifted. The memories of Kevin’s body molding itself to Connor’s, his hands protectively wrapped around Kevin’s belly, the smell of his hair. He felt the spike in his heart rate.

Kevin looked up and smiled, setting his pencil and his book down. 

“Hi,” he responded. Was he flirting? He was flirting. _No, Connor._

Connor sat next to him, taking the cup of coffee that awaited him. “What are you drawing?”

“I was… it was nothing,” he said quickly. He set the book aside.

Connor’s eyebrows rose but he let it go. “How are you feeling? How was today?”

“Tired, but my stomach doesn’t hurt as bad, so that’s something.” Kevin put his hand out into the rain, letting the water hit his skin, watching it carefully. He flinched at the sound of the thunder, the crack of lightning. The tension was palpable. Kevin physically healing left the open mental wounds front and center. 

As if on cue, Kevin stretched, his hands instinctively finding his stomach, holding himself together. “Are you alright?” Connor asked cautiously, hampering the urge to reach out to him. He’d been resolved to not push his limits, to not test boundaries. To let things organically grow and if they did, to take that as his sign that this was maybe okay. 

“That’s a loaded question.” Kevin paused for a moment, holding his eye contact. “I don’t... know what I’m doing,” Kevin finally said, the rain nearly drowning out his voice.

“Me neither.” Connor smiled, watching Kevin closely, the rise and fall of his chest, the tremble in his hands, the red tint to the whites of his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Kevin eventually said, clearing his throat, shaking his head. "I'm going to make it a full day without crying."

Connor smiled. “You don’t have to. You don’t have to do that. For me, or for anyone else.”

Kevin closed his eyes and nodded, standing. “I haven’t cried in years, before this week. Can we just- let’s go for a walk?”

“It’s raining,” Connor said, standing too. Kevin placed his sketchbook on the small chair, draping his sweatshirt over it to protect it.

“I noticed. I love the rain.”

That wasn't surprising. “Of course you do.” 

“What’s that mean?” Kevin’s tone was light as he stepped off the porch, leaving the protection of the roof, the droplets instantly running down his face and his jaw, his shirt sticking to his body. 

Connor, with little thought, reluctantly followed suit. “It means of course you love the rain. Sensitive, emotional, angsty teenagers all love the rain.” His tone was joking and he smiled, putting his hand over his head as if there was any hope of shielding himself from the water. Surprisingly, though, everything was warm. The rain, the night, and Kevin’s hand in his, as he caught up to him and took it. It wasn’t like the cold rain in Seattle that was miserable and dreary. He could get on board with this. Kevin closed his eyes and lifted his face to the sky, letting it pour over him. Down his jaw, his neck, eventually disappearing into the fabric of his shirt. 

They walked together slowly, Connor holding his hands tight, sparing occasional glances back at the small house. Kevin’s eyes were red and getting redder, but he fought to keep himself from crying. Connor could recognize it when he saw it, and it broke his heart.

“Hey,” he whispered, squeezing those shaking fingers just a little tighter. "Talk to me."

Connor couldn’t work out if it was the rain, the exhaustion, or some degree of trust that had been built, but once they started, the words poured out of Kevin. 

“I just... I feel like pieces of me aren’t fitting into the puzzle anymore, and the things I want don’t line up with the things I believe in, and trying to sort it all out while also trying to deal with… everything else… it’s a lot. I don’t know what I believe in anymore. I don’t know who I believe in, and I find myself questioning everything, and that was _me_.”

Connor nodded as they stopped, Kevin turning to face him. 

“Being Mormon isn’t- or, wasn’t- just a part of me, it was the defining part of me. Who am I, if not Kevin Price, passionate servant of God? It’s all… is any of it real, though? That… being in the church, yesterday. It was honestly one of the worst moments of my life. Accepting that I know nothing, and that this piece of me is dying. And I don’t know how to save it. And I don’t know if I want to save it, or if I need to save it, or how I continue living a life that more and more feels like a lie. And I just don’t know what to do with that right now.”

“The Mission President is coming on Monday,” Connor said. “Maybe you can talk to him?"

Kevin shook his head. “I just need time,” he said. “Maybe I’ll heal, you know? I’m not ready to give up yet.” He looked out into the night, shaking his head.

This was Kevin. This was his boy, the boy who would undo him. Who would destroy everything and who would ultimately heal the pieces of him that he thought would never heal. But the risk, Connor knew, was that he’d destroy Kevin too, and there would be no healing from that. He let go of his hands. 

“No,” Kevin said. “That’s not what I meant. I don’t think, I mean, I hope… I’m hoping the two aren’t mutually exclusive. That, maybe, there’s a way that I can… figure out both things, you know?”

Connor nodded. He took a step back and anxiety overtook Kevin’s features. 

“Hey,” Connor said softly. Connor didn’t want to stress him out. He just… he wanted to bring him peace. To make sure he knew there was no pressure from him, that they could be friends and he would help him and it’d be okay either way. “We need to figure this out. Together, okay? On your terms."

Connor never could have anticipated nor prepared himself for what Kevin Price did then. He lifted his hand slowly and brushed the hair off Connor’s forehead, letting his fingers linger there. Connor couldn’t think. He couldn’t speak. He could barely breathe. But those blue eyes bore into his, Kevin’s expression an entire journey in itself. Despair, excitement, confusion, longing, sorrow, hope… Kevin put his hand on the back of Connor’s neck, muscles tight, and held him like that, for a small eternity. Until that moment, Connor had been the initiator. The one doing the holding, the touching. The one doing the longing. 

Kevin pressed his forehead against Connor’s, their lips just inches, maybe not even inches, apart.

“I don’t know what any of it means,” he whispered, his fingers trembling at Connor’s neck.

Connor was frozen. This moment- the first moment when this boy held him like that, not in fear or in pain, but something else- it felt like Connor's whole life had built to this moment.

Connor wrapped his arms around Kevin’s waist, drawing his body closer carefully, and Kevin let him. He swallowed hard, his own breath shaking. The muscles in Kevin’s back were tight, and Connor was so cautious with him. _Don’t hold him too hard, too tight, his body is still broken, his muscles and bones are still working so hard to piece themselves back together._

And they stood there, in the rain, foreheads touching, clinging to one another, each lost in their own thoughts.

“Do you think,” Kevin eventually whispered, his breath hot on Connor’s face, “that if we go down this road, there’s any forgiveness for us? There’s any world in which we can make it out alive?”

“I don’t have an answer to that.”

“But it’s a risk you’re willing to take?” There was a hopefulness to his voice.

“It’s a risk I’ve been willing to take since the day I met you.”

Kevin closed his eyes and nodded, the rain assaulting his face and his neck and his back, and Connor still just frozen. Kevin’s fingers tangled themselves into Connor’s hair, their mouths so close that the air passed between them, a shared space in which neither of them was sure what the next move was. Connor wouldn’t do it though, he wouldn’t initiate this. Even if all his resolve failed in every other aspect of his life, he’d hold true to this. He’d wait for Kevin to close the remaining distance or he’d break away. This had to be on Kevin’s terms, or he would never forgive himself.

“Kevin, I don’t know if this is a good idea,” Connor said softly. Kevin’s expression didn’t shift. He kept his hold on him, their foreheads touching. Connor brought his hands to Kevin’s forearm, squeezing it but not daring to risk removing his hand from his hair. He was too vulnerable. The timing was terrible. He’d been through an emotional roller coaster and it was still going. He’d been grappling with a serious assault, with a brutal recovery, with post traumatic stress disorder, with panic attacks, with insomnia, and with his only solid institution crumbling around him. Connor didn’t say any of this. 

Instead, he said, “I want this. I want this more than I’ve ever wanted anything, but I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

There was a prolonged silence wherein they stood still, holding one another, before Kevin spoke. “I want it, too. You know that, right?”

Connor remained silent, hot tears gathering in his eyes and his hand moving back to Kevin’s waist, pulling him in tighter. Kevin felt resolved. He could do this. This was what he wanted and this was what Connor wanted, and maybe this wasn’t what God wanted, but Kevin wasn’t certain if God deserved a spot in this. Kevin brought his other hand up to Connor’s face, he closed his eyes, and the moment before their lips met, her voice rang through Kevin’s head.

The words that he would hold tight for the rest of his life. _As long as you never act on it, it’s okay._ And at that last possible moment, Kevin bowed his head, turning it to the side.

Kevin could feel the tension leaving Connor’s body, and he kept his eyes closed. He couldn’t face Connor, he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do it. He felt the onset of the panic, the breaths that started hurting, his brain moving too fast and the gasping that he couldn't control.

“It’s okay.” Connor’s voice, soft and patient, endlessly patient, pulled Kevin back to the surface. He brought his hands to Kevin’s face. “Kevin, it’s okay. Buddy, look at me.” Kevin’s hands dropped as Connor hooked a finger under his chin, guiding his head up, forcing their eyes to meet. “It’s okay.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he said again, for the third time that evening. The tears came then, the tears he’d committed to not shedding, they came. Connor, with a hand at the nape of Kevin’s neck, pulled his head down and kissed his forehead softly. 

“Neither do I,” Connor said, his breath warm against Kevin’s forehead. He pulled back far enough to look at Kevin’ face. He took Kevin’s hand in his own and turned toward the house. “Let’s go get some sleep. We can talk in the morning.”

Hesitantly, Kevin followed him. They didn’t make it more than a few steps before Kevin stopped them, though. 

“Connor,” he said abruptly, his grip tight on Connor's hand. Connor turned, and without a moment’s hesitation, Kevin pulled him in, a firm and sure hand moving to the back of his head, fingers curling once more into his hair, eyes closing on instinct. When their mouths met for that first time, it was a feeling that Connor never in his life expected to feel. It was warm, and it was strong, and yes, Kevin trembled, because Kevin always trembled, but he felt so _sure_ at that moment. It wasn’t so much a physical feeling of sparks and magic that Connor had always expected, but it was an emotional acknowledgment of pure and unrelenting happiness. That _this_ was it. This was the thing that Connor wanted and needed and his heart, his entire being, felt like it was all overflowing. This was real. This was the most intense feeling that Connor had ever felt, that he ever would or could feel. It didn't get any better than this. Words and thoughts didn't come easily. The world disappeared, and there was only Kevin, his shaking Mormon boy, who was healing but was a far cry from healed, who was clawing his way out of the darkness and who was trying his fucking best. As Kevin brought his second hand up to Connor’s face and held him like he'd never been held before, as Kevin kissed him like nothing in this world could pull them apart, he knew that this was right. They both knew it.

Eyes closed, bodies drenched but pushed so tightly against one another, the two boys defied their God, their families, their church, their brothers, their communities, and it was _right_. It was beyond right. It was perfect.

And just as it was Kevin who had started it, it was Kevin who ended it, pulling back just far enough to whisper, “we’re going to be okay," his breath hot against Connor’s mouth. His fingers tense against his jaw, his body rigid but so strong and so sure, sure of this one thing in his life.

Neither of them could predict with certainty that they would, in fact, be okay, but right then, it was the best they could have hoped for.

✥ ✥ ✥

Elder Cunningham was fast asleep, snoring softly, by the time Connor made it back to Kevin’s room, dried and changed and tired beyond belief. Kevin stood at his dresser, wearing nothing else but loosely fitting, dry pajama bottoms. 

Connor tried not to let his eyes linger on Kevin’s body. The outline, now more pronounced, of his ribs. The faint bruising that covered them, circling to his lower back and trailing beyond his waistband. Kevin selected a white t-shirt and put it on, turning just in time to see Connor very overtly looking away.

“Will you stay?” Kevin whispered, crawling into his bed. He was mostly dry now, save for his damp hair. His shivering was more pronounced. Connor glanced at Elder Cunningham, wondering briefly if it was fair to him, but nodded anyway. Of course he’d stay. 

Kevin’s eyes were heavy. That look of exhaustion was creeping back into his expression as he sank down into his bed, letting out a sigh of relief when his head finally hit the pillow. He turned to lay mostly on his belly, his pale fingers wrapping around the fabric of his pillow. 

Connor pulled the thin blanket up to Kevin’s waist and ran his fingers through his damp hair, as Kevin's eyes shut slowly.

“We’re gonna be okay,” Connor whispered Kevin’s words from earlier. Kevin’s head nodded so slightly that Connor couldn't be sure it even happened. He sat nervously on the side of the bed, next to his boy. He turned the light off and eased his weight down onto the small mattress, opting to stay on top of the blanket, mostly because he didn’t trust himself.

He put his hand on the back of Kevin’s neck, letting his fingers linger there for a moment. His hand trailed down Kevin’s spine, on top of that thin white shirt. Kevin didn’t speak, but his breathing was so peaceful. Lit by the moonlight, Connor watched Kevin’s fingers curl around his pillow, clutching it loosely, his eyes opening only slightly. Connor rubbed his back gently, careful of the spots where the bruises had been the worst, and his eyes once more closed, the tension slowly dissipating from his muscles.

God, he was beautiful. He was so dang beautiful, laying there and breathing and trembling and existing in this same world that Connor existed. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve this boy in his life, but he was explicitly grateful that God had brought them together. Connor lay on his side next to Kevin, rubbing circles on his back, encouraged by the continuing release of tension, the relaxing of muscles, the easing up of the tremors that ran through his body. He let his hand rest where he could feel Kevin’s heart beating, savoring these tender moments of calm. 

Today had been a lot. It had been an emotional journey in itself, as most days had become, but he knew it had played out the way it needed to. It was so soon for Kevin to offer that part of himself up, healing, yes, but nowhere near healed, and Connor understood that. So he’d settle for this. This boy, this sweet, kind, hopeful and broken boy, who calmed down under his touch and flinched at the sound of thunder, offering as much of himself as he could. 

He kissed the back of Kevin’s head and closed his own eyes, keeping one hand protectively on Kevin’s back, as attuned to his breathing and his heartbeat as he was to the trembling, ready to wake him if the nightmares came on. "Sleep well, buddy," he whispered, as he inched himself as close as he could safely get, and then, with his head buried against Kevin's shoulder, he slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another lengthy chapter! Thanks for reading, and your continued support. I've modified the current outline somewhat, down to 15 chapters. Still a heavy estimate, it's hard to say for sure where it'll land. 
> 
> Timeline check: Today, in this universe, it's Saturday (into Saturday night). Mission President comes Monday. Just so we're clear on where we're at with things in the context of the musical!


	10. Chapter 10

Connor awoke suddenly; the sun beamed down into the small room, forcing him to squint against the brightness. It was too bright, too high in the sky. His cheek was still buried against Kevin’s shoulder, and under it, his boy slept peacefully. Kevin’s breathing was even and steady, his body was warm but quiet. He reluctantly pulled himself back, taking the rare opportunity to just watch him unabashedly. Connor wondered what he was dreaming of. If it was scary, if he was okay. He looked younger, sleeping so soundly in that bed, without the anxiety that had generally overtaken him manifesting itself in his expression. 

Kevin’s eyes opened slowly, Connor reluctantly pulling his hand away as Kevin rolled carefully to his back. “Hey,” he said, his voice groggy. He, too, squinted against the bright sun. “What… time is it?” 

Connor glanced nervously at the clock. And then he looked again. And one more time, just to be sure. “It’s close to noon?” As the realization dawned on him, internal alarms began chiming relentlessly. Against his will, Connor's brain began producing different scenarios, how this could play out- all the potential implications of sleeping in so late. Elder Thomas’s words rang back to him. If they weren’t careful, if they did get caught, they’d be sent home. They might never see each other again. There were worse consequences that Connor didn’t want to consider. 

They needed to just make sure they weren’t caught. 

“Noon?!” Kevin sat abruptly, a groan escaping him at the action. He reached for the aspirin on his nightstand, his fingers shaking as he fumbled with the lid.

“Yeah,” Connor stood. “I don’t know how we… I don’t- did we set an alarm last night?” He carefully peeked into the living room. Empty. He poked around every bedroom, every shared space.

“Connor,” he heard Kevin call from the bedroom. Kevin sat on his bed, a torn paper held tightly in his hand. “They went to the school,” he said, holding out the note, scrawled carelessly in Elder Cunningham’s handwriting.

“Huh.” He rubbed his face, sitting next to Kevin. “They just left us behind, just like that.” His tone was joking. “Defied their district leader without hesitation.”

“They areout of control,” Kevin said, smiling as he stood. He stretched backward, exposing that small slice of belly, pale but strong, broken inside but still so perfect. Connor made a conscious effort to move his eyes back to Kevin’s face, a safer place, and flushed immediately upon the realization that Kevin had caught him in his ogling of things he should definitely not be ogling.

“Sorry,” he said then, clearing his throat. “I-” he shook his head again. “Sorry.” While he wasn’t one hundred percent certain where Kevin sat with things (Kevin wasn’t even one hundred percent certain where he sat with things), the memories of last night were fresh in his mind. His heart raced.

“Don’t be,” Kevin replied, taking a step closer to him. He bit his lip, glancing once at his bible, which sat on his nightstand. 

Connor smiled and pressed his lips against Kevin’s forehead, letting them linger there for a moment. He released Kevin hesitantly, looking back at the bible with him.

“He’s not going to forgive us,” Kevin said, moving around him and putting the bible back in the drawer with his other books. 

“Maybe not,” Connor replied. There was a silence that came over the room. “Let’s get ready.” 

✥ ✥ ✥

In their small bathroom, Kevin stared in the mirror, as he had countless times over the last week, trying to determine precisely where his physical health sat. He’d slept hard. Harder than he’d slept in a long time, even before he moved here. No nightmares, at least that he could remember. The bags under his eyes were still there, but faded. There were pieces of himself that were more recognizable today than they had been, but in some ways it felt like he was looking at a stranger. He lifted his hair at his forehead and leaned into the mirror. The swelling had long-since dissipated, and the bruise was nearly completely faded.

The memory flashed in his mind briefly and without warning, fingers curling into his hair, the taste of metal in his mouth. He stared at his own eyes, so blue they were nearly clear, reminding himself where he was. Counting his breaths. Over and over, until his mind quieted. He was getting better at keeping them at bay. He couldn’t quite predict when they’d come on, but he could reliably, at this point, manage the less intense ones. 

The more intense ones, when he’d see flashes of the… the General, out of nowhere, or when he’d lose his entire grasp on reality, he needed to figure out a plan for. He knew, realistically and in hindsight, that they weren’t real. But when they came on, there was no convincing himself. So, he supposed, he had some work to do to figure it out.

In the mirror, he saw the door open, Connor walking up behind him. Kevin opened the medicine cabinet, overwhelmed by the number of bottles there. He opened each one quietly, his fingers shaking as he did, reading the labels and trying to work out what exactly he was supposed to do. He hated this. But it had been so much worse in the hospital, and to prevent that from happening again, he’d do it. After taking several pills, he set the cup down and his eyes met Connor’s.

They stood side by side, examining their own reflections and then each other’s, noting the difference that a night’s sleep made. Connor’s face looked fuller; he was always attractive, but now he looked more… awake, Kevin decided. It wasn’t a gauntness or that he looked frail or any of those dark words, but today he looked healthier. Ready to take on the world. His smile was easier. His eyes brighter. And the bags, still there, but less. Just like his own. 

✥ ✥ ✥

The afternoon sun was hot on their shoulders but the walk started out enjoyably enough. It was the first time he’d left the house and gone into the village since the coffee shop thing with Elder Cunningham. 

They made their way through the town, close together but not touching, discussing their families and their friends (mostly led by Connor - Kevin kept reasonably quiet). Two Mormon missionaries who on the outside were so deeply connected to their God, while in the privacy of their apartment, were- Kevin’s thoughts were dark as he saw himself doing the thing that he wasn’t sure he had any business doing. His shirt felt tight against his skin. His tie felt like it was choking him. His name badge, a weight on his chest.

He was anxious, and that feeling was only heightening as they got further from the house and into the crowded market. Connor was by his side, not holding his hand, but keeping his fingers only centimeters from Kevin’s.

Frequently, he would pause. Space would clear and he’d find an opening, and he’d stop them, catching his breath and looking around, making sure no one was near him or coming near him, making sure the… making sure there was no one coming after him. He’d squat down, brush his fingers through the grass, breathe. None of these faces were familiar. None of them were the… the General, and yet, he saw flashes of him everywhere he turned. He knew that he should stop this, that he should turn around and go back. He knew that Connor wouldn’t be angry with him, but he also knew that he would be angry with himself. And he was already so often angry with himself. He could do this one thing. He could see the school that Connor was working so hard to build.

He told himself, over and over, that it was just his mind playing tricks on him. None of it was _real_. His palms were sweaty, his heart racing, but none of it was real, and he could do this one thing. And eventually, once he was sure no one dangerous was nearby, he would stand and Connor would give him that look that wasn’t pity exactly, but was one of deep concern and then with hesitation, they would continue walking.

✥ ✥ ✥

There were very few things in this life that Connor could say he actively regretted. Making fun of Leslie Jones at his third grade birthday party, looking at pictures of James Harrison on the computer all night and failing his eight grade math final as a direct result, and basically the entirety of his sophomore year of high school being the only three that had come to mind.

And now, topping that list, was encouraging Kevin Price to walk through the busiest village in Kitguli, Uganda during the busiest time of day.

Every time they saw someone new, whether they turned a corner into the market or they exited one of the shops, Kevin would flinch. Every time someone walked too close, Kevin’s breathing would pause, he’d wring his hands together, and inevitably would skirt around them and smile his most heartbreaking smile, almost apologetically. Connor couldn’t tell him again to stop apologizing. This boy felt a specific and unrelenting guilt not only for what had been done to him, but for his recovery as well. And it just fucking killed Connor.

As they walked further into the village, deeper into the bustling market, it got worse. Every step, Connor grew more desperate to call the whole thing off, to turn around and go home, back to safety of their apartment. Where Kevin was okay, and where he didn’t have to watch him go through whatever internal hell he was going through. He’d offered it twice, and both times Kevin had shaken his head.

As Kevin hesitated to move forward once more, the color draining from his face, Connor found himself for the third time saying, “Please can we just go home?”

“No,” Kevin said, blinking hard with a whole-hearted effort to hide the tears forming in his eyes. “I just want to- I just want to see the school.”

“I know you do,” Connor replied. “But we can see it next week. Or the week after. We can come back out tomorrow, once you’re feeling better. We shouldn’t be doing this to you.”

Kevin, with a fervid determination, continued pushing forward. “We’re not _doing_ anything to me. I have to be able to deal with this. I can’t just… I can’t just live in fear my whole life.” 

It had only been a week, Connor wanted to say. But there was no stopping him. This was Kevin Price, who was determined and uptight and really didn’t accept failure too well. Who was beautiful and passionate and caring and just wanted to heal. And Connor had learned well enough by now that there was no changing his mind. So they worked their way into the residences of the village, away from the people. 

“Just- Just, let’s take it slow, okay?” Connor finally said, pulling their pace back just a little. Once they were free of the busy market, things became easier. Kevin could breathe again, and Connor took his hand, squeezing it tightly. There was no one around here. 

Relief washed over Connor, their steps easier as they walked more casually through the small alleys of this village. Kevin told Connor about his siblings, and his parents. His voice was shaky and hesitant as he spoke specifically of his mother, of her passion for the arts and of her teaching him to play the piano and of her sitting with him when he was young and looking at his drawings. That, where his father had been strict and pushed him toward a modest, conservative life, his mother had encouraged him to explore his creative side. The way he spoke of his mother, it was clear to Connor that Kevin had a great deal of affection for her.

They weren’t far from the school, when out of nowhere, a football flew past Kevin’s head. 

Connor watched it in slow motion, that look of panic overtaking his boy, his whole body rigid and his breath hitching. He gasped, stumbling backward, as a kid who was no more than maybe ten years old ran past them without a second thought. Connor caught his arm and eased him to the ground, sitting with him.

“Kev,” Connor said, holding his shoulders tight. His eyes were closed as Connor turned to him, bringing his hand to the back of his head. “Kevin, it’s alright,” he whispered. “Stay with me.”

Kevin let out a slow breath, his body shaking, his palms covered in sweat. When his blue eyes opened, slowly, Connor smiled, a relieved but anxious smile. “Breathe, buddy,” he whispered through a humorless laugh, letting go of his head. Kevin did.

He let a few moments pass before speaking again. “Are you okay?” He knew the football hadn’t hit him, but still he found himself looking quickly at Kevin’s head, pushing his hair off his face with panic in his own movements to make sure.

Kevin nodded, looking up at the sky as he took a big breath through his nose. Connor watched the rise and fall of his chest, longed to reach out to feel his heart, to make sure he was okay.

“Alright,” Connor said. He stood, putting his hand out for Kevin, and Kevin took it, tears pooling in his eyes. “Time to go home, okay? Let’s just… can we just take it easy today?” Kevin nodded, swallowing hard.

“Okay,” he said softly, the light reflecting tragically off his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, we can-.” He nodded, as they turned around, Connor squeezing his hand tight. “We can come see it next week.” Connor watched quietly as Kevin fought to keep his tears back. 

They took the long way, far off the path from the market, far from the village. There were other dangers out here, sure, but none that brought even a fraction of the anxiety the market had.

✥ ✥ ✥

Connor fumbled anxiously in the kitchen. The evening was coming in quickly, and the others would start arriving home over the next few hours. Kevin had situated himself at the shared laptop, opening it slowly, which was where Connor had left him fifteen minutes ago.

With a bowl of cut fruit and some paper towels in hand, he headed to the living room, pulling a stool up next to Kevin, who was furiously typing over the computer.

“Hey,” Connor said, cueing Kevin into his presence before sitting next to him. “Mind if I sit?”

Kevin shook his head and kept his focus on the screen. 

“Finding anything interesting?” Kevin’s goal had been to start the hunt for strategies to help him in the seemingly unavoidable moments when the panic would come on.

His fingers shook as he pulled open a new tab. He clicked the search bar, which brought up his last several searches: 

_how to stop a panic attack_

_how to stop a panic attack after its started_

_how to forget when something bad has happened to you_

_how to forgive yourself for disappointing god_

_what to do when you can’t stop a panic attack_

_side effects of anxiety medication_

_is anxiety medication safe_

_how to get medication when you don’t have a doctor_

Connor closed his eyes, squeezing Kevin’s thigh gently. 

“I’m fine,” Kevin said, turning to face him. “I promise.”

Truth be told, it didn’t seem like he was fine, but he turned back to the computer and typed in a new variation of the same question:

_how to calm yourself down when you’re having a panic attack_

Kevin scanned the screen carefully, but Connor kept his attention on Kevin. He picked up the small notebook next to him and began cross referencing the list that he had started with the new page he was reading. He circled some things, which had already been circled. Breathe deeply. Close your eyes. Count to 10. Some not circled, some underlined, a couple crossed out. To the bottom of his written list, he added, _Picture your happy place- Orlando?_ He absently drew a smiley face next to as he considered his answer. Orlando? 

Connor had been to Orlando. It wasn’t really… it was a strange choice. He didn’t say this, and instead, made a mental note to ask Kevin about it later.

“Do you want me to give you some space?” Connor asked, unsure of what he wanted that answer to be.

“No,” Kevin replied. “No, it’s fine. If you’re okay with being here.” A moment of direct eye contact passed. “I like having you here. I’m just-” He took a breath. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to ignore you or anything. I’m just stressed,” he said, a candidness to his voice.

Connor smiled and nodded. “Repeat a mantra, huh? Do you have a mantra in mind?”

Kevin smiled and shook his head, adding _-??_ to that point. 

He got through the list on the site he was looking at and opened a new tab, starting a new search. This went on for close to an hour before the door finally opened, Elder Cunningham and Elder Thomas walking in slowly.

Kevin closed the tabs, his notebook. He deleted the history and closed the computer, as Connor stood to greet their friends.

“Sorry, I left without you.” It was Elder Thomas who spoke first. “We didn't want to wake you... Elder Cunningham had mentioned that the, uhh, Doctor, said that sleep was really important.”

“It’s okay,” Connor said. Truthfully, getting real sleep, getting some daytime hours with Kevin had been a blessing, even if the day had gone a little sideways.

“What’s for dinner?” Elder Cunningham asked, mostly to Kevin. 

✥ ✥ ✥

They decided together that on this night, Connor would take up Elder Thomas on his offer to room with Elder Cunningham, having accepted that getting a good night’s sleep tonight of all nights was probably in everyone’s best interest. Elder Thomas had been the driving force in the conversation, but Connor and Kevin weren’t difficult to convince.

Elder Cunningham stood in his now hijacked bedroom packing his bag for another night in the rental, as Kevin unbuttoned his shirt slowly.

“How was the school?” Kevin asked, gingerly pulling the shirt off his shoulders. He longed for the day he’d be able to do something as simple as getting himself dressed without pain. He ran his fingers over his temple garments, which lay folded and untouched in his drawer, as he did every morning and night. He put on his pajama bottoms instead.

“It was okay,” Elder Cunningham replied.

“Did you convert any more Mormons?” Kevin asked. Elder Cunningham’s eyes narrowed toward Kevin. 

Kevin looked sideways at the elder. He was hiding something. There was some bit, or some secret, and he was guarding it. 

“No,” Elder Cunningham replied. “We really didn’t teach at all.”

“No?” Kevin asked, watching Elder Cunningham’s face turn slightly red. He hadn’t read the book. He had admitted as much. Kevin took the opportunity to dig in a little. “How did you convert all the others? How did you sell it the first time?”

“Okay,” Elder Cunningham said, the hint of a smile playing at his lips. “The thing is, I did embellish some things here and there.” Kevin shook his head, but the corners of his lips turned up against his will. “But remember, we’re mission companions and we forgive each other, even when we do bad things.”

“How much did you _embellish_?” Kevin asked.

“Barely any at all! Just here and there to supplement some things. It’s totally fine, I converted them all and God is _proud_ of me, you know?”

Kevin nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m sure you did well.”

“I’m sorry,” Elder Cunningham said, his smile slightly dropping. “It just- I didn’t mean to. It just kind of happened.”

Kevin was mildly alarmed at how little he cared about this particular transgression. It couldn’t have been all that bad. “We’ll just need to make sure that when the mission president comes, we’re ready. I’m sure he won’t even ask.”

Elder Cunningham nodded quickly and grabbed his bags, wishing Kevin a goodnight on his way out.

✥ ✥ ✥

“What is it about Orlando?” Connor asked, the door closed and locked, for good measure. He'd waited while Kevin had finished getting ready, making small talk and trying to understand this boy just a little bit better. The small figurine on the nightstand had caught his eye, reminding him of his question from earlier, “that makes it your place?”

Kevin looked up at him, sitting slowly, ever mindful of his stomach. He gingerly took the little toy and held it with a specific type of care. “It’s not so much Orlando itself,” he said softly, breathing slowly and deeply through his nose. “I think Orlando represents something else, if I’m really doing some deep soul searching. I mean, we took a trip there, a long time ago, and I remember thinking, _this is where I want to spend eternity_. The people there… they were… _happy_ , you know?”

Connor nodded, tangling his fingers into Kevin’s.

“They could be whoever they wanted to be. They could be someone _entirely_ different, they could love who they loved and they could wear what they wanted to wear and it was… it was just so freeing, to be in a place like that. It was the first time I’d ever seen a gay couple openly… just, like, exist. And they were _everywhere_.”

“Not like Salt Lake City, I assume?”

Kevin smiled, curling his feet under him, his free hand finding his stomach only briefly. 

“No, at least not in my area,” he finally said. “I guess Orlando is kind of a metaphor. This idea of ‘ _getting everything we ever wanted’_ that we throw around, I guess I chose Orlando, because in my nine-year-old brain, that’s where I could be happy. Really happy.”

Kevin set the figurine back on his table slowly as Connor rose to meet him. 

“And now?” Connor asked, “What’s your nineteen-year-old brain’s take on happiness?”

“My nineteen-year-old brain has seen some stuff,” he said with a laugh. “I think- I think now, I just… Right now I just need to work out how to get through a day without thinking about… or, I guess. I guess right now I just need to find a way to forgive myself. I think that would be the closest to happiness that I’ll get.”

This conversation was in dangerous territory, and Connor was deeply unsure of how far to push, of what would be okay to say and what would hurt him, but he was waiting, and Connor needed to say something, so he said, “You know none of this is your fault, right? Like you- you understand that, right?” And it occurred to Connor that he likely didn’t understand that. That he was fractured, on the inside, in a place that wouldn’t just heal with time.

Kevin nodded, but it was empty.

He groaned as he laid down, his arms, of course, protectively circling his stomach. “Are you okay?” Connor asked. “Do you want more aspirin?” 

Kevin shook his head, pinching his eyes shut. “I’m alright.” He took a slow, deep breath, and forced his expression to shift. His fingers rested gently against his stomach. Connor laid beside him.

“Can I?” Connor asked, brushing the top of Kevin’s hand. Kevin nodded and moved it carefully, allowing Connor’s hand to protect his belly instead. He closed his eyes as Connor gently moved his fingers across his t-shirt, his touch light on Kevin’s abdomen. Connor felt the butterflies in his stomach, too, the familiar stirring that he was so accustomed to turning off. 

So. Painstakingly. Cautiously. Connor slid his hand under Kevin’s shirt, his eyes fixed on Kevin’s face, ready for any small signal that he was going too far. But he gave none. His eyes remained closed, he swallowed carefully. His skin was warm, his breathing shallow and nervous, but his body was strong. “Does it hurt?” Connor whispered, and Kevin shook his head, carefully bringing his hand rest on top of Connor’s. 

Connor moved his hand gently across the plane of Kevin’s body, his own stomach tying itself into knots. He turned onto his side, Kevin’s fingers fitting themselves in between each of his. Kevin guided Connor’s hand across his belly to his side, but not breaking contact with his skin, as he rolled to face him. He pulled himself so close, wrapping himself around Connor. He buried his head into Connor’s chest, his free arm wrapped around Connor’s waist. Connor’s hand was momentarily frozen against the bare skin of Kevin’s back.

“Is this okay,” Kevin whispered, those same words that Connor had made a point to ask every time he pushed any boundary. He thought for sure that Kevin was at least partially teasing him, right? But Kevin’s body tensed briefly, a cue that was struggling through this, too.

And it was… it was something. It was so far beyond okay. It was… it was… it was the most perfect, the most wonderful. It was… it was everything.

He didn’t answer, instead he leaned his head down and pressed his lips into Kevin’s hair, and he closed his eyes once more.

“We should get some sleep. We probably don't want the mission president to catch on to how bad things got. He'd ship me right out of here, back to Salt Lake City,” Kevin whispered.

Connor traced his fingers gently along Kevin’s spine, up to his shoulder blades, his hand splayed across his ribcage. “I’d have to sneak in to your room in the middle of the night; I’m sure your parents would be thrilled to see me.” 

Kevin curled himself tighter to Connor, his fingers clutching the back of his shirt. “Let’s just make sure that doesn’t happen,” he whispered.

Connor nodded, breaking contact with Kevin’s back only to turn off the small light. “Goodnight, buddy,” he whispered, as he silently thanked God for another day spent with his favorite Mormon boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 11: Sometime this week. Will not be a normal chapter. Going to make it as logical as I can. Bear with me :)
> 
> If you're still here, know that we've gotten through what I consider to be the meaty not-very exciting middle chapters. Things /should/ at this point move along. 
> 
> I also can say with certainty there will be at least a little more hurt/comfort (probably a good deal in 1 of the chapters), so while it'll likely never hit the intensity of chapters 1-2 (my personal hurt/comfort babies), if that's what you're here for, there should at least be little piles of it here and there :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beginning notes! If there was ever an intermission, it's this chapter! I believe the tonal shift is due to it being almost entirely monologue (with a mild dose of tell not show). Regardless, I consider it a bonus chapter, enjoy at your leisure!

With an emotion that Kevin Price didn’t know he was capable of feeling and was certainly incapable of labeling, a seething anger mixed with sadness mixed with confusion mixed with… fucking… _earth shattering anxiety_ , he walked quietly to his room and slammed the door shut. He locked it behind him as tears streamed down his face, all the rage and hurt and… and all the sadness and the fear of the last two weeks bubbling to the surface.

The day the mission president came had felt like any other day at first. They had awoken early. They had showered, each boy careful to make sure there were no hairs out of place, that there were no wrinkles in their shirts. They had sat quietly at the breakfast table, the building energy palpable. 

Kevin had felt different though. He didn’t share in the excitement at telling the mission president of their success. He didn’t share in the anticipation of the mission president coming. He just wanted it to be over, so he could go back to reading and drawing and... working out his relationship with God, if he even had one. So that he could go back to working out his relationship with himself.

But the reality was that the mission president _was_ coming, and he had to participate or he had to admit that he was hurt and he was lost and risk being sent home. Neither option was great.

And so the elders of Uganda, District Nine, had sat around the living room quietly, shining their shoes, looking each other over. Making sure their ties were _of modest width and patterning_. Making sure they had gotten every bit of stubble from their chins. And they were truly excited, this one united team of teenagers praying that they had done enough to make God proud; to make the mission president proud.

He had arrived by ten with two senior members of the church, all in matching tan suits, shaking hands and clapping shoulders, seeking _him_. Kevin Price, most faithful and devoted servant of God. He hadn’t done anything to deserve their praise. How was he supposed to pretend that he had?

Still, when the mission president did finally lay his eyes on Kevin, he had smiled tightly. Kevin had accepted his compliments (while dodging his handshakes handily), Kevin had swallowed back the anxiety building at the pit of his stomach, and Kevin had kept the smile plastered to his face. 

A tour. It had been a simple request and it wasn’t something that raised any alarms. To meet some of Heavenly Father’s new faithful followers. A tour to show him some of the villages in Kitguli, and if things went well, to introduce him to some of the villagers who had committed themselves to the church. 

And then the play had happened. Joseph Smith, dying of dysentery. Moroni of the _StarShip Enterprise?_

_"Elders, you may as well pack your things, this district is shut down.”_ Ten agape mouths, ten young Mormons who were doing their best, who worked _so hard_ to please this fucking church and to please a God who didn’t seem to care about them at all. Ten men who were just learning to be adults in _Africa_ , away from their families and friends, nine of which had nothing to do with this, whose lives were being destroyed. Kevin felt anger rising as they stood in a semi-circle, eyes aimed only toward the floor, while the mission president addressed them. Distantly, he heard, _“You’ll be given tickets home and you can explain to your parents that you have all failed as missionaries.”_

Flights, the mission president said, his face red with anger, would be arranged by next week, and in the meantime, he would be checking in regularly to ensure they stayed in line. 

Kevin hadn’t heard anything else that was said. He’d left. He’d turned on his heels mid-berating and walked away, into the village, distantly aware of the others moving to follow him, but not looking back. He moved quickly through the huts, his heart racing and his breaths too fast, until he was sure no one had come after him. He couldn’t look at Arnold. At his friends. At Connor, his district leader, and the kindest, most dedicated, most caring person he’d ever met.

His breathing was erratic, his vision dancing between blurred and pure blackness. He counted his steps as he made his way through the streets, he thought of his happy place. He recited the mantra that he’d only recently decided was his. _God isn’t responsible for your happiness_. He took deep breaths and he finally found his way out of the village and onto the main road, where he’d been left to die all those days ago. It would take at least twice as long to get home this way, but it was safer than the market, and with the open sky around him, he could finally breathe.

When he opened the door, the other elders were all seated around the living room, in widely varying states of panic, but he didn’t look at any of them. He heard as several voices tried to speak to him, but he tuned it out.

With an emotion that Kevin didn’t know he was capable of feeling and was certainly incapable of labeling, a seething anger mixed with sadness mixed with confusion mixed with… fucking… _earth shattering anxiety_ , he walked quietly to his room and slammed the door shut. He locked it behind him as tears streamed down his face, all the rage and hurt and…and all the sadness and the fear of the last two weeks bubbling to the surface.

He shouldn't have left him alone on that first day; he _knew_ Arnold didn’t know anything. He knew he was his responsibility, and that he needed to take care of Arnold, and help build his skillset, and help monitor the things he said and did. He’d been told directly that he had extra responsibility here. He’d been through this a thousand times during missionary training.

And still he left. 

Kevin’s mind went in circles, ignoring the gentle knocking at his door, ignoring the more intense knocking that followed after. Ignoring Arnold at his door, pleading for Kevin to let him in. He forced back his tears, shaking it off. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he waited until they stopped completely before he wiped his face with his sleeve, and he stood.

He went to his closet and got his bag, and he threw all of the contents of his dresser into it, shoving the shirts down to the bottom, shoving the pants, the shoes, the shoe polish, his brush. He picked up the entire stack of temple garments and threw them, without hesitation, into the small trash can. He went to his nightstand. He slammed his sketchbook into his bag, and more carefully, he put the two small personal items on top with the books that Connor had bought him from the hospital. He threw the three other books onto the bed and he… he...

Once more, he burst into tears, this time the panicked ones that came with gasping breaths and dizzy vision. Uncontrollable tears that originated somewhere deep inside of him; a dark place that he'd fought tirelessly for the last two weeks to keep locked away. He could work this out. He could get through this. He was to blame for this, and the mission president would have to accept it.

There was no reason for Conn-- for Connor. For Connor to be punished for this. His breathing slowed as he thought about Connor. His bag, covered in his clothes that had been haphazardly thrown in, fell to the ground. He curled up on his bed next to his books and he sobbed, the shaking, hopeless sob of someone who had no idea how to fix the mess at his feet.

Was God- was God punishing him for Connor? Was God punishing all of them? They didn’t _know_. They had no idea what was happening, what Kevin was doing. What Kevin was _feeling_. They weren’t responsible for the way he was behaving. They didn’t _deserve this_. 

He stood, legs shaky, barely able to see beyond the tears that relentlessly poured from his eyes. He fell to his knees beside his bed and he tilted his head to the sky and he closed his eyes and he prayed. 

_Help me. Help me understand it, help me to see where I went wrong, because I’m… I’m just… I’m... lost_. _Please just... give me something. A sign. Anything. Help me._ The disjointed, frantic praying continued, the tears streaming down his face. For how long, he didn’t know. Until his knees hurt. Until he couldn’t sit like that any more, and then longer. He begged God for forgiveness. To let the others continue their work. To punish _him_. 

He still hadn't quite caught his breath when he opened his eyes, the small envelope peeking out between his Bible and his Book of Mormon catching his attention.

He stood slowly. His stomach once more hurt pretty bad, his breaths choppy as he hugged himself tight. He wiped his face again with the back of his hand as, shakily, he gulped down more air.

He sat at the edge of the bed with the little envelope. On the front, it said, _To Elder Price_. His fingers shook as he held the crumpled paper. It was… it was with the gift that Arnold had given him. He’d put it aside that day, but he… he never had… He opened it now.

_Dear Elder Price,_

_First off, I want to say that I know this is weird. Trust me, I know. Bishop Donahue says that when I can’t quite “express myself right” that I should try writing a letter to organize my thoughts. This is my ninth try at this one, but you’re out of town, and Elder Thomas is really intense about curfew, so I’ve got plenty time to get it right._

_I just wanted to tell you, because I don’t think you hear it enough, how thankful I am that Heavenly Father put us together. Now, I know that I was probably not your first choice, BUT you were mine, and I know that it doesn’t make sense for Heavenly Father to answer my prayers and not yours, but maybe it’s just a different road to getting your prayers answered, you know? Like maybe, you being my companion and us coming to Uganda and you helping me- maybe it’ll help you, too? Even though right now, I know, it sucks._

_What I’m just really trying to say is that I hope you’re feeling better really soon. You’re the best person I’ve ever met, and I hope that one day I can be more like you. So get well soon, buddy. I know I don’t pray a lot, and I don’t know everything I’m supposed to know about God, but I know this: it doesn’t matter that much what God thinks, because we have each other, and in the end, we’re the ones who are down here looking out for each other while he’s up there, maybe not even really doing that much of anything, you know? Just kidding, I’m sure he’s working really hard._

_So anyway, what I mean is that even when it hurts, I just hope you know that we all care about you, and we’re all praying that you come out of this okay. And I know that you will. Because you’re the strongest person I know._

_~~Love~~ , ~~With Respect~~ , Love (not in a weird way), _

_Arnold “Elder” Cunningham_

Carefully, Kevin folded the letter up and placed it in his pocket. 

He stood. He walked slowly to the door and unlocked it, taking the deepest breath he could, shaking off the tears and the sadness, willing it all to just _go away_. When he walked out to the living room, he saw only Arnold standing there, staring dejectedly at a few printed out papers that lay on the floor.

“Hey,” Kevin said, coming up next to him. He kept his distance, but tried to make sure that his expression was soft. His emotions were all over the place, he was still anxious, and if the last few hours had taught him anything, it was a recipe for disaster if he wasn’t careful. He picked up the papers and looked them over, trying to decipher what they said. 

It took a minute, but it looked like it was the play. Written out, riddled with typos that made it barely legible, but that’s what it was. 

“I really did it this time, huh?” Kevin looked up as Arnold spoke, his voice pained in a way that Kevin didn’t expect. “I mean I’ve always been a screw-up, but this?”

Kevin kept his focus on the play. He read it carefully, shaking his head at the audacity of it all. Images of Arnold teaching the villagers this, believing in what he was saying. But still, bringing them… joy. Even if… even if what he said wasn’t _real_ , it served a purpose for them. It was… it was real in its own way. 

The villagers had never looked so happy. They’d never been so excited to share something with them. And it dawned on Kevin, then, that maybe he was looking at this wrong. He thought about Arnold’s letter, and more specifically, about the passion with which he cared about the well being of the people who came into his life. 

“Joseph Smith, dying of dysentery. Moroni, from the _StarShip Enterprise_?” Kevin finally said, his lips hinting at a smile. Arnold finally met his eyes. “Honestly? That play… was one of the most... _miraculous_ things that I’ve ever seen. I mean… it was a bunch of made up stuff, but it pointed to something bigger.”

Arnold, for his part, looked confused, but some of the sorrow washed from his features as he nodded, uncertain.

“We have to try to fix this,” Kevin said softly. He didn’t know how they’d do it, or if he could even get anyone else on board. In his short time here, he’d been through things he never envisioned going through. He’d been irrevocably changed. He’d lost his faith, he’d no doubt lose his family, his friends. But he’d found things, too, some things that he wasn’t ready to give up, even if he had to fight through every day to find the light. Even if everything hurt, and everything was scary, and there were moments when he didn’t think he could continue… he wasn’t ready to give it up.

He knew without a doubt there was a bumpy road ahead of him. That now, in addition to the pain, in addition to the anxiety and the panic attacks and massive issue he had with human contact looming over his every move, there was another mountain in his path. But for some reason, in that moment, with that folded, crinkly letter in his pocket, his mother’s figurine in his bag, and Connor McKinley just in the other room, Kevin knew that this fight wasn’t lost yet.

“How?” Arnold asked, hesitation in his voice. It was a good question. Kevin sure didn’t expect any help from God, but he thought maybe, if he could get the other elders on board, there could be a universe in which he pulled this off. That maybe Arnold was right- maybe he’d been sent here as an answer to his prayers. And maybe not, but it was up to him to figure that out.

“I don’t know,” Kevin said softly, shaking his head. “I guess we have a week to figure it out.”

✥ ✥ ✥

The day the mission president came had felt like any other day, at first. Now though, as he walked into Kevin’s room, slowly taking in the state of his things, Connor knew that the “normal” they’d come to know was a thing of the past. Kevin’s clothes were strewn all over the floor, his temple garments, once undoubtedly beloved, crumpled in the trash can. His bag was next to his bed, overflowing with his books. But it was okay. _He_ was okay.

It was midnight by the time the other elders had calmed down enough to slink off to their respective rooms, the atmosphere was… chaotic, somewhat hopeful, but mostly anxious, if Connor were trying to label it. Still, he’d thought of nothing but getting Kevin alone, and making sure he was alright. 

And there he sat in the middle of his bed, hair still damp from a too-hot shower, white shirt clinging to his muscles, bent over his sketchbook. While a lot had changed over the day, at least one thing hadn’t. He was fucking beautiful.

“Hey, buddy,” Connor said, closing the door, turning the lock. Kevin looked up at him from his book and smiled his shy, sad smile. “Tough day?” Connor’s voice was light, as he sat down next to his boy.

“You could say that,” Kevin said. He set his pencil down then, stretching his back. Unlike the others, Kevin had banished himself from Group Mormon Time™ hours earlier, having had just about all that he could handle for one day. The others didn’t question it- there wasn’t anything _to_ question. It was written all over him.

“Wait- Can I see it?” Connor asked, as Kevin began to close his book.

“Oh,” Kevin said. “Uh, yeah. Sure.” He reopened it hesitantly. It was a portrait of a woman, who was young, bright eyes, dark hair. She had a sad but recognizable smile that Connor was instantly drawn to. It was impeccable, and before Connor could ask, Kevin said, “My mother.”

Connor smiled and nodded, letting his hand rest cautiously on Kevin’s thigh. “She’s beautiful. It’s… really… Wow. Can I see more?”

“I... Another time, okay?” He closed his book gently, apologetic eyes regarding Connor. Connor left it alone, as Kevin set his sketchbook into his drawer. He cleared his bed off, and grabbed his things from the top of his bag, the three personal books finding a home in his nightstand with his sketchbook, the figurine and ornament back in their faithful spot next to his lamp. He glanced at the three Mormon books, laying now at the foot of his bed, and picked them up carefully. 

He held them tightly, perhaps too tightly, before Connor said, “Here.” He held out his hand. “Let me.”

Kevin gave them to him and he placed them in the top drawer of Kevin’s dresser, on the other side of the room, before heading back to the bed and climbing into it. 

“Are you okay?” Connor asked again, more seriously this time. They were exhausted. It was clear in both of their faces, it was clear in Kevin’s eyes as he nodded, wringing his hands in his lap. Connor smiled, brushing Kevin’s cheek with his fingers. Kevin brought his hand to his own cheek to cover Connor’s, letting it rest there for a moment. “How are we g...”

Without hesitation, Kevin leaned closer to him, his lips cutting him off as his hands moved to Connor’s jaw. Holyyyy… Connor was momentarily stunned, his mind blank, as Kevin kissed him gently at first, moving one hand to the back of his neck, tilting his head to the side and pulling him in tighter. Connor’s lips parted, his hands eagerly crawling up Kevin’s shirt, careful with his stomach and with his ribs but eager to touch him any way he could. He guided him down onto the bed, one hand on the small of his back, one hand on his belly, their breathing slow but with an air of thirst about it. 

He could feel Kevin’s heart pounding against his own chest as he eased his weight onto him, keeping most of it on his own forearms, and not breaking contact for a second with Kevin’s mouth. Their bodies pressed so tightly together, feeling Kevin in a way he'd never felt him before. In a way he'd never felt anyone before. Every muscle tense against his own, every movement of Kevin's body sending tingles through Connor's. Kevin’s lips turned into a smile as they kissed, so gently, but with a hunger that Connor didn’t even know he had in him. 

They wouldn’t go any further, not that night. But with Kevin’s body underneath his own, his tense and warm and perfect boy, Connor knew they could get through whatever tomorrow would throw at them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Intermission is over, lights are flashing. Time to get back to the connorxkevin hurtcomfortfest we all know and love.
> 
> Chapter 12: Sunday or Monday? Probably Sunday.


	12. Chapter 12

Connor walked the quieter area of the market slowly, breathing in the fresh air, taking a moment to appreciate an opportunity to be alone with his thoughts.

It was Thursday, two weeks after Kevin had been assaulted, three days after the mission president had dismantled their district. The last three days had gone by in a bit of a blur. Many phone calls had been made. Calls with the mission president, with other members of the church back home, with their parents; often involving crying, sometimes shouting, sometimes pure silence. 

The elders had spent a good deal of time looking at funds and exploring housing costs. Creating pros and cons lists. Making decisions and changing those decisions, and then making new decisions. It was a bit of a fiasco, but they were starting to form something that vaguely resembled a loose plan.

That morning, they were going on a supply run. Connor had… been assigned grocery duty, the direct result of, up until that moment, it being his number one favorite task. Connor was actually (and proudly) very good at grocery duty. He enjoyed cooking, and he enjoyed buying fresh food from the market, trying out new things in Uganda, planning meals. But separating from Kevin, while understandably a thing that he needed to _get over_ , gave him pause.

It wasn’t without hesitation that he _let_ Kevin on his own, and he used _let_ with air quotes, because there was no _letting_ Kevin Price do anything. Kevin had said he was fine, and he said Arnold would be with him, and he said he would be careful to stay away from the busiest parts of the market.

And so reluctantly, Connor had made his way off the path to the less-busy grocery shop. Connor found himself, with every item he selected, wondering if Kevin would like it. He picked up the staples that he knew Kevin would eat: fruit, vegetables, some cheese. He’d find items he thought that Kevin might enjoy and he’d put them in his basket. He spent a small eternity considering each option. Carefully, abashedly, he chose the ingredients for one of Kevin’s favorite childhood meals, a piece of information he'd only learned that morning. _This_ was the thing people were always talking about. He’d never felt it before, but he sure did feel it now.

 _“My mom used to make the most amazing shepherd’s pie,”_ Kevin had said as he got dressed, following some gentle nudging from Connor. 

Connor let out a contented sigh at the thought of Kevin, wrinkled pajamas and hair disheveled but smiling as he remembered his mom’s dinners. He examined each potato carefully, putting what he thought might be the perfect selection into his basket.

Tonight, he thought maybe he’d give it a shot. Kevin had been eating better over the last two or three meals, starting to branch out, more willing to eat food that would be a little harder on his stomach. 

God, he had it bad, didn’t he? He could admit that he did. Kevin hadn’t spoken much (at all) about what had happened to him, and Connor didn’t push the subject. Instead, they’d spent their time slowly getting to know each other. Drawing, sometimes writing, sometimes playing games, sometimes just talking and drinking coffee. Over the past few days, as they tried to redefine “normal” and find their new purpose in Uganda, they had made a point to get out of the house during the day. To help people where they needed it, to put structure behind their lives. Some of the (ex)elders, Connor knew, were still preaching the Book of Mormon. They just didn’t know what else to do.

At night, they’d taken to eating dinners together as a group. It seemed like having this new project, this new _thing_ to fix or to throw himself into, was doing good things for Kevin. He'd begun coming out of his shell more, getting to know the other elders, letting them get to know him. They’d play board games and it would feel almost… right. Connor and Kevin would be careful to stay separated but close enough, careful to not bring any extra attention to themselves. Until 9:00 would roll around and there was a giant _???_ in the air, some of the boys opting to stay up, some going to pray and plan, and Connor and Kevin going to lay together, or talk on the porch together, or sit up in bed and just… just learn about one another. They’d been careful to maintain secrecy, but Arnold continued sneaking to Connor’s old bed, leaving Connor and Kevin privacy.

The mission president had been steadfastly keeping his promise. As long as they lived in the church-funded apartment, they _were_ his problem. He’d called Connor nightly for a report, and each morning took the hour and a half drive over from Gulu, where he and his wife had a house. He never seemed necessarily angry, but Connor knew they were a nuisance to him. Still, he could have been worse.

When Kevin had first made his speech, everyone had joined in, enthusiastic about staying and forming their own group. But, as they really began carving out the details, a few dropped off, whether due to pressure from their parents or fear of the unknown. The mission president had secured tickets for the elders who had chosen to go home (Zelder, Michaels, Schrader, and Davis), but, when Connor had explained that he, with the others, was planning to stay, the mission president had told him the apartment was paid through the month, and to be out a week before that. Surprisingly, he had run his hand over the back of his neck and wished them well, offering his assistance if and when needed. 

Connor paid for the groceries, holding the bag tight to his chest, and began the trek back to the main square of the market.

In the distance, Connor could hear something; some kind of commotion that indicated something that wasn’t exactly right, but he couldn’t quite pinpoint it, either. He looked around, but no one in the village seemed to react, or even really hear it. So he kept walking, clutching his bag of groceries a little bit tighter. It was probably his mind playing tricks on him.

As he made his way through the alleys between the huts, he heard it again. He definitely heard it that time. There was… there was something. His mind went to Kevin, but immediately he pushed that back. He’s fine. 

“Did you hear that?” he asked one of the villagers. She shrugged and walked away, quickly.

Connor picked up his pace a little bit, moving toward the sound that grew a little louder with every passing moment.

The closer he got, the tighter the knots inside him grew. It was screaming. He was almost sure it was someone screaming. He held his overflowing bag of groceries tighter still, and then he started to notice the looks of concern on the villagers around him. The closer he got the center of the market, the more he noticed people’s expressions, in fact. Concern, dodgy glances at one another.

He swallowed, his eyes darting around him, his steps picking up speed steadily. He was almost at a full sprint when Elder Neeley turned a corner, knocking straight into him. Connor kept his bag tight against his chest, but barely. He didn’t care. The panic in Neeley’s eyes was enough for Connor to vomit, but miraculously, he swallowed it back. He couldn’t breathe.

“What is it?” he asked, his voice louder than it should have been; his lungs hurt as he sucked in air, but he couldn’t care. He could only pray that it wasn’t Kevin. Inside, he knew that scream. He knew that scream better than anyone should.

“It’s-” Elder Neeley started shaking his head, taking a step back. Alarm on his face. Sweat on his forehead. Face red. Connor was already moving when he said, “It’s Kevin. Some douche in the market-”

Connor didn’t wait for the rest. He sprinted, following the sound of his boy’s screams, faster than he ever thought he could.

Every possible fucking scenario played out in his mind. If something had collapsed on him. If he had some underlying medical issue that had surfaced. If he’d been hurt. If he was… if he was _being_ hurt… 

He fought so hard to stop those thoughts as the screams grew clearer, but he couldn’t turn them off. Not these. He felt his hands shaking as tears formed in his eyes, but he kept running. Out of breath, shaky sprinting, legs numb and arms aching and chest so tight that he thought he might not make it, but he would. He would make it. And then he was past the middle of the market and closing in on the area where people were crowding in a tight formation, centered around, he knew with a doubt, Kev- Kevin. 

He could hear him clearly now, but he couldn’t see him. There were so many people, and he shoved by them, hanging on tight to that small paper bag. The world was a dizzy, dark place, and each of his own breaths was a struggle, his entire body in the most pure physical panic that he’d ever experienced. 

But he didn’t slow down. He used his shoulders to pave his path, plowing through onlookers, going as fast as he could toward the sound of Kevin’s screams. He paid no attention at all to who he was pushing, to the looks he was getting. He lost his footing, falling face-first into the busy street, apples and berries and groceries scattering all around him. Someone offered a hand to him but he didn’t take it. He scrambled to his feet and he kept pushing through.

As the crowd got denser, as the screams got more pronounced, Connor braced himself for what he might see. He remembered that night- the night that they didn’t dare speak about. He still had nightmares about those screams. He pushed through the final few people and there he was. Kevin Price. His boy. Sweet, innocent, and wholly undeserving of the hell that God was relentlessly unleashing upon him. 

He lay on the ground, curled up so tightly, his body frail and exhausted and his screams desperate and… the most heartbreaking sound Connor had ever heard. Elder Thomas stood behind him, hovering over Kevin’s body protectively but not touching him, tears welling in his own eyes. 

He looked at Connor and shook his head slightly, a helpless, _I don’t know how to help him right now, but I’m trying_. The mission president crouched next to him, fucking… rubbing his back with a fair amount of panic in his own expression. Connor watched in horror as Kevin arched his body away from the touch, screaming and screaming, the mission president pulling his hand back and then, in some completely fucked attempt to calm him down, going _back in_ to rub his back _more_.

“Get away from him!” Connor screamed, but stopped short as he ran to him. _Too much, it’s too much for him._

He locked eyes with the mission president who, after a moment, stood slowly, hands up, taking a step back. Sobs and sobs and sobs wracked Kevin’s body as his wailing continued. 

“Ss-stttop,” Kevin cried, curling in further. “P-please!” Distantly, Connor was aware of the eyes on him, but it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Nothing in this world existed except him and that boy. Everything else disappeared. The crowd. The other elders. The mission president. It was just Kevin, laying on the ground, and Connor, standing in an empty market, and there was no one else.

“Kevin?” Connor said softly, still several feet away. Connor took a hesitant step forward. His hands shook as he inched his way toward Kevin. 

“Buddy?” His voice was so low, he wasn’t sure if anyone would register it. He wasn’t sure if Kevin would register it. But he’d try. As Connor got closer, Kevin’s screams shifted into something… something just as painful, but less. It encouraged him. He dropped to his hands and knees.

“Hey,” he whispered, inching his way closer. Kevin’s body was covered in sweat, his shirt drenched. His head was buried between his knees, his shoulders shaking with each pained breath. Slowly, cautiously, Connor reached out a hand.

“It’s just me, buddy,” he said, with the backs of his fingers, he lightly touched the top of Kevin’s hand. Kevin flinched, his whole body reacting, but he… he made a noise, a different noise, one of… maybe of recognition. Connor reached out again, letting their fingers connect. Kevin’s breath came in rough waves, the sobs that overtook his body making breathing difficult.

Acutely, Connor became aware that all eyes were on him.

He flipped his hand over so he held Kevin’s, putting a little more pressure on it. When Kevin’s crying didn’t get worse, he was once more encouraged.

“Alright, Kevin,” Connor said, on his knees next to him. He rubbed his hand for a moment, waiting for some of the tension to dissipate. He needed to bring him back. To get him close enough to reality that he could just _breathe_. Everything else, they could deal with.

He switched his focus to his forearm, moving his fingers gingerly over his skin, and then slowly up his arm, until his hand rested on Kevin's shoulder, and he left it there. “You’re alright. We’re gonna get you through this.”

Kevin’s sobs had grown quieter, by nearly undetectable amounts, but Connor could feel the difference. And Connor kept talking to him. “You’re okay,” he’d whisper, as his hand moved to his shoulder blade. “You’re safe, buddy. It’s okay.” He trained his focus only on Kevin, his free hand coming to Kevin's shaking fingers, wrapping around them, holding them tightly. He kept talking to him, encouraged by the release of tension, encouraged more as the sobs continued to shift from the panicked screams to the desolate cries. He held Kevin's hand and he rubbed his shoulder and he talked to him quietly, over and over reminding him that he wasn't alone, and that he _would_ get through this. And eventually, Kevin let go of his knees and he leaned slowly toward Connor. 

Connor responded in turn, opening his arms and pulling Kevin’s body against his own. Kevin sort of fell into him, wrapping himself tightly into Connor’s embrace, sobbing openly against his chest. 

“It’s okay, buddy,” he whispered, over and over. He ran his fingers through Kevin’s hair, he squeezed him so tightly, and he waited like that. Sitting in the middle of that road, in one of the most crowded marketplaces in Kitguli, Uganda, in front of all of his friends, in front of everyone. Hugging his boy and telling the world, this is the boy that I choose. 

He heard the other elders working to get the crowd dispersed, he felt their eyes on him. He would not look at them. He would not allow anything to pull his focus from Kevin Price.

“It’s time to get up,” Connor eventually whispered, when he was sure Kevin was calm enough. He felt Kevin’s shaky breath against his own chest, felt Kevin’s fingers clutching his shirt tightly. “You can do this. You’re doing great.” Reluctantly, he pulled away from Kevin, making brief eye contact with him. God, how grateful he was to see those blue eyes, red with tears and unfocused but a sign that he was coming back. 

He gently helped Kevin to his feet, as slow as he needed to, keeping his eyes only on Kevin. He wrapped Kevin’s arm around his shoulder. Walking was the only option, but the market wasn’t far from their apartment. With a steadying hand on Kevin’s belly, he began slowly guiding him through the crowd. As they moved, the people parted, letting them through. Only concern on their faces. No judgment. No anger. No hatred. Unadulterated concern for the Mormon missionary who just wanted to bring more people to God.

Arnold came up beside him, keeping a fair distance from Kevin. 

“What can I do?” he asked.

“Can you just… can you keep everyone back? The mission president, the other elders. Just… keep them busy for a bit, let me get him home, we’ll go from there.”

He heard Arnold shouting behind him as he kept his eyes planted on his destination. It was maybe a five minute walk, he could do this. Each step, more of Kevin’s weight fell on him. He wasn’t fully with him, not yet. But he was getting there. Right now, he just needed to get him somewhere quiet. Where he could calm down, and where he could reset.

And so they walked slowly, every inch a success, every block a milestone. When they got to the porch, Kevin dropped his weight onto the railing, holding it so tightly, shaking his head. His red eyes were full of tears, his mouth clamped shut, but he kept shaking his head.

“Alright,” Connor said. “Let me get the door.” Kevin moved to the ground, burying his head, as Connor unlocked the front door and opened it. “Come on, buddy,” he said, putting his arm carefully around Kevin’s back. With his other arm under his knees, he lifted Kevin cautiously, all the adrenaline and the anxiety serving a purpose here, if nowhere else.

He carried Kevin straight to the bathroom and got him into the shower, the only place that Connor felt sure they'd be left alone, taking off his socks and shoes. Kevin’s breaths were gasps, but he cooperated as much as he could. Connor didn’t know what else to do. He took off his own socks and shoes and he stepped in, both of them fully clothed, as he turned on the shower. He wrapped his arms around Kevin Price, holding him tightly while the warm water helped to wash away his tears.

Kevin began fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, drenched now, his fingers shaking relentlessly. “Let me help you,” Connor whispered, reluctantly loosening his grip around him. One by one, he undid the buttons, watching Kevin’s face carefully for any reaction to indicate it was too much.

With the last button free, he helped Kevin pull the wet shirt off of his shoulders and set it on the floor next to the tub. Kevin’s hands shook even worse over his belt buckle, as he frantically fumbled with the metal. 

“Can I h-” Connor started, when Kevin cut him off.

“No,” Kevin said, his voice barely above a whisper but not at all uncertain. “I can… I can do it.”

His voice was raspy, his throat sore and tired. Connor watched anxiously as Kevin struggled over it, tears welling his eyes once more, his expression miserable but determined. It didn’t come easily, but eventually the buckle gave. Kevin didn’t look at Connor. Once free, he stepped out of his pants, and Connor placed those, too, outside of the tub.

“Can I?” Connor asked, gesturing to his own shirt. Kevin nodded, his eyes so red and so tired, as Connor removed his own shirt, his own pants. 

As soon as they were off, Connor pulled Kevin back to him, their bodies melting together like they were built to be that way. They stood in their underwear as Kevin cried and cried and cried, and Connor held him, as tight as he could, while the hot water washed over them.

There was a knock at the bathroom door, but certainly no one would-

It opened and the mission president entered. He surveyed the scene, the two mostly naked (ex)missionaries hugging while Kevin fell to pieces. His expression was tight. 

He and Connor stared at each other, for just a moment waiting to see who would make the first move, before he finally took a deep breath. “A friend of mine from Gulu, a doctor, is on his way,” the mission president said. “He’s- he’s good. He can help.” Connor didn’t react. “He’ll be here in a couple hours.” He turned around and walked out, closing the door softly behind him.

Connor let out a relieved breath. He couldn’t _think_ when Kevin was sobbing like this. He couldn’t worry about the others having seen this, about the mission president, about doctors, about Kevin’s parents. 

Kevin began dropping his weight to the floor of the tub and Connor followed suit, guiding them down and keeping himself wrapped around Kevin, not for a moment letting him go. They sat in silence, then, Connor rubbing Kevin's back with one hand, his nose and the fingers of his other hand buried into his hair. And with time, Kevin calmed down.

As his breathing finally returned to a state something akin to normalcy, as his tears dried up and his eyes, which had been full of panic and anxiety, shifted to exhaustion and sadness, Connor found himself whispering, “Talk to me, buddy.”

He felt Kevin’s intake of breath, his head nodding against his chest.

“I just… It’s… God, it’s... hard to explain,” Kevin whispered, pulling himself away from Connor’s chest. He turned so they faced one another in the bathtub, the hot water continued pouring over them.

He took another shaky, almost gasping, breath. “In the market… it started out okay. I was... fine, you know? Like… nervous, but okay.”

Connor nodded but kept silent.

“And then it got more crowded, and I started… I guess, just like… seeing flashes of him, in everyone I looked at.” He paused for a moment, putting his thoughts together. ”I don’t- And then someone, or some _thing_ , I don’t know. Got too close. Everyone was so close and someone bumped into me or grabbed me or something, and I… I ssw-swear. I swear it was him.”

“Who?”

“The… the gen- the general. I don’t know if it was him or if it was my mind playing tricks on me... I don't know. But I was… I was back there, in that camp. And all of this, my brain just like… all of _this_ was suddenly a dream, and that’s what was real. Does that make sense?”

Connor tensed.

The General? _The General… we've seen this before._ Gotswana’s words played in Connor’s mind. And Connor felt a sense of dread, of horror, settle upon him. Every mistake he’d made over the past two weeks pushed at the door of his memory. Every movement. Every time they went into public. Every time he pushed Kevin too far. Every time Kevin had a nightmare, every time Kevin tensed up when someone got too close. Every panic attack. But he pushed that all back, he did the thing, the thing he was so fucking good at doing, and he turned it off. At least for now. Because right now, he would be present for this boy. 

Kevin’s fingers fidgeted anxiously and Connor grabbed them, squeezing him. _I’m here. And I’m listening._

“There wasn’t any stopping it… there wasn’t any- there was no way to… to get out of it, because I… Connor, I was _there_ again. I could _feel_ it. I could smell- I could smell it.”

He watched as the tears welled in Kevin’s eyes, only falling when he closed them. Kevin turned then, back to his side, settling back into Connor’s arms, letting his head fall to the place just under Connor’s chin. Connor kissed his forehead silently and he pushed his fingers once more into Kevin’s hair and, knowing nothing else, knew without a doubt that Kevin Price, though hurting and though fractured, deserved the world and Connor would work tirelessly to give it to him. 

And likely he would say the wrong things. And he would misstep. But he would be there for him, and no matter what else, he would hold him when he needed to be held, and he would listen when he needed to talk, and he would sacrifice everything he had for him. For his boy who, even when he didn't show it, and even when he smiled, was hurting. Every day, he was hurting.

This was Kevin Price, the boy who Connor knew with a certainty that he'd never felt in his life, that he loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for continuing to read & support this story.
> 
> I'm not positive when you can expect 13. Within the next week I think (as of 3.29.20).


	13. Chapter 13

Connor wrapped Kevin up in a towel, Kevin’s tired eyes searching his, and ran his fingers through his soaking hair. They stood in the bathroom for an extra moment, both staring at the door.

“I can-” Connor hadn’t thought this part through. He could what? Go out there and face reality. Hold his head high in nothing but his soaked through underwear and ask them to give him privacy right now? They’d have to pass through the length of the hallway, coming dangerously close to the living room (where there was no doubt a handful of (ex)Mormon teens and one disgruntled mission president waiting anxiously) to get to Kevin’s room. But Connor’s was next door. 

Towel wrapped loosely around his waist, Connor squeezed Kevin’s hand briefly and cracked the door, peeking out into the hallway. Eerily quiet. 

“Alright,” he said to himself, turning back to his boy. He kissed Kevin’s forehead, and Kevin sort of fell into it. Connor wrapped his arms around him, drawing in a deep breath. “Are you ready?” he asked, and he felt Kevin’s nod. He released him and quickly, they made their way down the hallway. 

Kevin’s shoulders hunched as he sat, almost lifelessly, on Connor’s bed, his legs dangling over the side and his head hanging. Connor dried himself quickly and changed, moving his attention back to Kevin. He stood over him and ran a towel over his arms, over his jaw, and eventually through his hair. Kevin’s eyes closed as he lifted his head a little bit, so Connor spent extra time there. 

“I’m going to go get you some clothes,” Connor said. Kevin’s eyes opened and he nodded, but there was anxiety there. “I’ll only be a minute. No one will bother you.” The look in Kevin’s eyes broke Connor’s heart in a way he couldn’t explain. He only got as far as the door before turning back. “No,” he said, going to his own dresser. “You can… you can just borrow mine, okay?”

Kevin let out a long, shaky breath and nodded. “Okay,” he said, lifting his hands and running them down his arms. Connor concentrated very hard on not noticing the shivering.

As he looked over the options, he felt… God, it wasn’t embarrassment, right? Kevin didn’t care. But he felt a certain amount of embarrassment, he guessed. He pulled out his favorite pair of pajamas, which he’d neglected since meeting Kevin, a matching shorts and t-shirt combo that was covered in little dinosaurs, and brought them over.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, grinning sheepishly as he presented them. Kevin, sleepy eyed and sagging shouldered, smiled, turning the fabric over in his hands. Connor had exactly one pair of what he would call _appropriate_ pajamas, and he’d worn them more or less every night since he met Kevin. 

Kevin pulled the t-shirt over his arms, fitting a little snug, and stood slowly. His legs wobbled, and Connor reached out a steadying hand, careful not to touch him unless he… initiated it. He couldn’t quite pinpoint what Kevin’s emotional state was.

He turned around then. “Let me know when you’re dressed, okay?” he said, moving back to his dresser and making himself very casually busy folding his other pjs.

“Dressed,” Kevin said, not long after, collapsing back onto the bed. The pajamas hugged Kevin’s body tightly, the dinosaur fabric simultaneously giving Kevin a really youthful vibe while also highlighting the muscles in his- Jesus, Connor. 

Their eyes snapped up in unison at the gentle knocking.

“I just- I just wanted to check in,” the mission president called from behind the closed door. Connor spared a glance at Kevin, whose focus was once more trained at an invisible spot on the floor. Connor hesitated, but ultimately let him in. 

The mission president scanned the room quickly for Kevin, his expression tight. “Can I get you anything?”

“No, thank you,” Connor responded, holding his eyes.

“Okay,” he said softly, nodding to himself. A moment passed where Connor thought that was all he was going to say, before he added, “Is he doing okay?” Connor nodded as they both glanced at Kevin, who wasn’t really _okay_ but seemed to be on the mend. “The doctor will be here in a few minutes,” he said. The mission president opened his mouth to speak again, but glanced briefly at Kevin, and let it close. “I’ll give you guys some privacy.” He closed the door as he left.

Connor came back to the bed, sitting down slowly next to Kevin. “You alright, buddy?” he asked, his fingers itching to wrap up Kevin’s. To calm the shaking. It was Kevin, though, who leaned over, laying his head cautiously in Connor’s lap. _Intentionally_. 

Connor’s hands were frozen as he repositioned himself, giving Kevin enough space to curl his legs up on the bed. He didn't think he would ever get over the feeling of Kevin choosing to do these things. Connor reached over his bed to Chris’s, grabbing his blanket, draping it protectively over the shaking boy curled up next to him. He watched as Kevin let his eyes close, the tears once more forming in the corners.

His hand found Kevin’s damp hair, and he ran his fingers through it, over and over, lingering on his neck on some passes, on his temple on others. And Kevin’s trembles eased. His shoulders curled, his eyes closed, and his breathing evened out.

“I,” Kevin said, his eyes opening slowly. He stared ahead, curling tighter into Connor’s lap. Connor watched him carefully. He took a breath. “Do you think I’ll ever get better?”

Connor’s hands paused briefly before he continued massaging Kevin’s scalp. He didn’t know how to answer that.

“I think,” he said, “I think if anyone can get better, it’s you.” Kevin nodded, swallowing. Connor recognized that face. The tight expression, the far away gaze. “You are, without a doubt, the strongest person I know, Kevin Price.”

“I don’t know,” he finally said. “I feel like… I just feel like I’m swimming upstream,” he whispered, a candidness that Connor wasn’t prepared for, especially not after the day Kevin had had. “I feel like every… like every time I start to feel _okay_ , I just… It’s like my mind can’t catch up, and then something happens, and I...” He closed his eyes and got quieter, taking a breath. “I’m so _tired_.”

“I know you are,” Connor said, his voice equally soft. “If you want to… You know I’m here, right? If you… If you need to, or, want to, I guess... If you want to talk about it.” 

Kevin nodded.

“I can’t pretend to understand what you’re going through.” His hand hesitated on the nap of Kevin’s neck. “But I can listen."

A moment passed in complete silence, long enough for Connor to question if Kevin had heard him at all. When his voice came, it was pained. “I’m just… I’m _so tired_ , Connor. I’ve never- I’ve never felt so tired.”

A knock drew both of their attentions to the door, Kevin’s shoulders tense. Connor moved from under him, and watched helplessly as he sat up, dropping his head into his hands and digging his fingers into his hair at his neck.

“I won’t let him touch you,” Connor whispered. He could see Kevin nod anxiously, but he couldn’t see his face. He knelt in front of him, put his hand hesitantly under Kevin’s chin. “Hey,” he whispered. Kevin swallowed and pulled in a deep breath. “He won’t touch you.”

The knock came again, slightly louder. Connor ignored it and wiped a stray tear from his boy’s cheek. “No one’s going to touch you.”

Kevin forced a small smile. The day had been impossible. Connor couldn’t even begin fathom how Kevin was processing the events. But the doctor was here, and he was at the door, and Connor was pretty sure that there wasn’t any more stalling.

The doctor entered first, shoulders squared and posture too strong to give any indication of wavering, but with a casualness and expression that at least was meant to indicate he was a friend. Connor felt Kevin’s fingers wrapping around his own, the familiar tremble intensifying just slightly.

“You’re good?” he whispered.

Kevin nodded. “Okay,” Connor said. He stood as the doctor approached, keeping his fingers wrapped into Kevin’s. 

“Hello,” the doctor said, extending his hand. Connor took it, if only out of politeness. He wasn’t sure where this all sat with him, but there was a distinct churning in the pit of his stomach at the thought of this man touching Kevin. “My name is Mukisa Okello. I’m a physician, a friend of your-” he looked back toward the mission president, some confusion there, before he smiled, shrugging. He moved casually around Connor, setting his bag down next to Kevin.

“I’m Connor McKinley,” Connor said, trying to be as casual as he could about inserting himself between the two of them. The doctor picked up on the hint, smiling as he took a step back. “I’m the… or was, the district leader here.” Connor took a breath. “This is Kevin… Uhh, Kevin Price.”

Kevin swallowed, his lips a tight smile, as he nodded in greeting. The tension in the room was palpable, but the doctor seemed to not notice or not mind. “How do you feel? I heard you had quite a day,” he said, pulling gloves out of his bag.

Hell, no. 

“I-” Connor said, inching his way closer to Kevin. What was he going to do about this, though? He felt his own heart pounding wildly in his chest. “Can we just slow down? Just, he-” As Connor stuttered over his words, the doctor nodded.

“Of course, yes.” The doctor’s eyes landed on their intertwined hands, widening momentarily. “Actually,” the doctor said, his eyes dancing between Connor and the mission president. “Would you mind giving me and Kevin a few minutes alone?”

When hell freezes over, Connor thought. 

“Connor,” the mission president said. “He’s… he’s here to help.”

Connor hadn’t realized he’d spoken out loud. But the sentiment was still true. Until Kevin had given explicit consent, neither of these men were going to touch him. As if reading his mind, the doctor knelt next to him. “Why don’t you stay with us? I’m only here to help him, I won’t touch him until he’s ready.”

With a pointed glance at Connor, the mission president took the unspoken cue to leave. 

“You’ve got a pretty good bump there,” the doctor said, carefully putting the gloves on. He was intentionally obvious in his movements. Connor felt his own breath hitching, but his focus was on Kevin. Kevin, who’s red rimmed blue eyes held the doctor’s, who watched every move the doctor made with caution. And the doctor who, just as cautiously, made his way a little bit closer. “Do you feel dizzy, Kevin?” he asked.

Kevin’s mouth opened, closed. He drew in a breath. “A little,” he said, his voice raspy with the strain of the day. 

“Okay,” the doctor responded. “Can you see okay? Any blurriness or… or darkness?” 

“No,” he answered. The doctor pulled a little flashlight out of his bag, shining it into Kevin’s eyes. Connor watched as his focus moved to Kevin’s temples, and lingered on the nearly fully healed injury from before.

The doctor asked Kevin a series of questions. Are you having any trouble breathing, Kevin? How often do you experience panic attacks of this magnitude? Are you taking any medication? Are you drinking enough? Have you lost weight?

As Kevin provided short answers, the doctor inched his way closer, until he knelt directly in front of him.

“I’m going to listen to your heart, okay?” he asked, holding the stethoscope in plain view.

Kevin swallowed but nodded, his eyes trained ahead. Connor sat on the bed next to him, their legs lightly touching. _You’re doing great_. 

“You’re doing great,” the doctor said. Kevin nodded, but his hands shook. The doctor noticed it, too, and slowly moved the stethoscope to rest on top of his shirt. He watched his reaction as carefully as one could expect him to. “Just breathe as normal as you can,” he said softly, seemingly putting in real effort to not contact him with his fingers at all. He moved into questions about the panic attacks, and when he eventually pulled away, Connor could finally let out his breath.

“Would you mind getting him some water?” the doctor asked.

Connor hesitated, but then stood, not sure what he needed to do here. 

“Please…” Kevin said, his eyes panicked. “Please don’t leave me alone,” the raspiness was growing worse, and Connor nodded, immediately sitting back down. They would make it through this.

“Okay,” the doctor said, nodding. “Can you tell me what happened to your head?”

Kevin sucked in a breath, and Connor felt his own heart racing. _You’re good, buddy_ , he tried to say, but he couldn’t find his own words. 

“I was… attacked, I guess.” Connor could feel the waves of panic rolling off of Kevin. And could do nothing to comfort him. He could only hope the doctor was noticing too, and would go easy on him.

“Okay,” he said. “Is that when the panic attacks started?” His gloved hands hovered over Kevin’s head, but he didn’t make contact. Kevin’s eyes shut tightly, his fingers tense in Connor’s. 

“Yes,” he whispered. 

“Alright. I’m going to touch your forehead, okay, Kevin?” 

Kevin was pale, and seemed like he would either pass out or throw up at any point. And it was Connor who intervened. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said. 

“No, it’s… it’s okay,” Kevin said then, gasping at breaths. “I’m okay.”

The doctor gingerly probed the bump on his forehead, pushing back Kevin’s hair. Kevin remained frozen, his fingers, though, squeezing Connor’s almost painfully tightly. 

“If you were attacked, it should be reported to the police,” the doctor said, withdrawing, and placing the stethoscope back into his bag. He removed his gloves and placed them, also, into his bag. And suddenly everyone could breathe again. “Have you been tested for HIV?” 

Kevin took a breath, and Connor, for his part, only clung to his hand. He watched as his chest rose and fell faster, as his toes curled into the carpet. “It… it wasn’t. It wasn’t like that.” He frowned, his eyes far off. “But I think at the hospital they tested me for… for everything.”

“You went to the hospital? Here?” 

Kevin shook his head. 

“In Kampala,” Connor said. The doctor nodded. 

“Good. Did they address the panic attacks?”

Jesus.

Kevin’s expression remained flat. 

“Panic attacks of this magnitude really aren’t common,” the doctor continued, doing a pretty fucking poor job of reading the room, Connor thought. “And they _are_ dangerous. Have you talked to your parents about this?”

Kevin shook his head.

“Okay,” he continued. “You need to call your parents. This isn’t something you’re equipped to be dealing with on your own out here.” His tone had shifted, however subtly, to direct. It wasn’t any less compassionate, but he seemed to have made some conscious or unconscious decision to try to strong arm Kevin into something. 

Connor, as with everything else, wasn’t sure where that landed with him. But the doctor did make a point. 

“Can I help you? Would you like me to call them? You should be, at minimum, seeking regular medical attention. I don’t think you’d be overreacting if you were to arrange to go home, even-”

“No,” Kevin said, his voice for the first time since breakfast, at full volume. “No, I’m not going home. I’m okay.”

The doctor nodded. “Okay,” he said. “You’re an adult, and you’re free to make that decision. But you need to take this seriously. This time you’re alright, but next time, and there will almost definitely be a next time, you might not have anyone nearby to help you. You understand how you could hurt yourself, right?”

“I understand,” Kevin said, his voice becoming increasingly charged with a new emotion. 

“Okay.” He stood, looking over Kevin once more, clearly not satisfied with the course of the conversation. “I’ll leave you some phone numbers. I… the police here are- it’s grim,” he finally said. “I won’t pretend like this is an easy situation to navigate. You can, and perhaps should, report anything that happened to you. But it’s different here than where you're from. If you report it, the police will investigate, and there could be justice served.” The unspoken _or_ lingered in the air. “Either way, I need you to find help, okay?”

“Okay,” Kevin’s voice was a whisper again. His eyes darted to the door briefly. “Thank you.”

“I’m going to prescribe an anti-anxiety medication that you can take when you feel the symptoms of a panic attack worsening, okay?”

Kevin nodded again, curling himself up on the bed.

The doctor sighed and stood. Connor stood, too, and they walked silently to the door. “Thank you,” Connor said softly, as the doctor filled out a couple of forms and handed them to him. 

“Encourage him to seek help,” was his reply. "Call me any time." Connor nodded. The doctor walked into the hallway but hesitated, turning back. “And one more thing,” the doctor said as an afterthought. “This is not my place, but the two of you need to be very careful here, okay?” 

Connor nodded again and extended his hand. The doctor sighed, recognizing that this would be a process, and that his impact was maybe more limited than he was used to. “Convince him to call,” he said, writing down a few phone numbers on the back of a piece of paper and handing it to him. 

✥ ✥ ✥

The doctor left an hour or so after he’d arrived. 

Kevin had felt his energy dipping, the stress draining him of whatever was left as the doctor asked question after question, genuine concern in his expression. Eventually, when he had done all he could do, he offered Kevin a sad smile and a list of instructions and his personal cell phone number, and whispered softly to Connor at the door to the bedroom. 

Before Connor even made it back to his bed, Kevin had curled up in those tight dinosaur pajamas and let his head sink into the pillow, relief washing over him and the tension finally, finally, starting to leave his body.

He distantly felt the bed shift as Connor sat next to him, felt the weight of the small blanket draped over him, felt the pressure of fingers in his hair and he let that feeling lull him to sleep. The last thing he remembered was Connor’s hand finding the spot between his shoulders, and the feeling of gratitude that, for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t alone. He asked God, with his last bits of energy, to please let his sleep be peaceful.

When he woke up, it was dark out. Kevin could still feel Connor’s hand on his back. He turned over, so he faced Connor on the small bed. Connor looked up from the book he was reading, easily recognizable as one of Kevin’s. He smiled as Kevin stretched, peeking around him at the clock.

It was 1:03am. He’d slept all day. Had Connor sat with him the entire time? His body was stiff, but he was feeling more alert.

“Hey, buddy,” Connor said, setting the book aside. Kevin smiled, stretching out further. His chest was tight. Everything was tight. Connor gave him a moment before asking, “How do you feel?”

“Okay,” Kevin said, his voice not quite right and his throat burning. Memories of screaming in the middle of the market danced in front of his vision, mixed with the darker memories of the doctor visit, and at the edge of those, the even darker ones from that night. His hand ran absently over his forehead, where the doctor had touched him. It felt okay. 

He sat then, running his fingers through his hair, doing his best to tame it. He stood cautiously, truly uncertain of the current state of his body. Connor watched him, his eyes lingering on Kevin’s stomach just long enough for Kevin to look down at himself. The matching shorts and shirt set hugged his frame tightly, the shorts landing a little above his knees. Both pieces were covered in a dinosaur print, the kind that Kevin typically associated with children’s pajamas. 

When he looked up at Connor, he was smiling.

Kevin rolled his eyes. “I’m gonna get some water,” he said. “Did you have dinner?” His voice was still raspy, but he wasn’t hurting the way he expected to hurt. He was feeling a little more himself. A little more energized, his vision a little sharper again. It was a relief. Still, more than usual, the memories of that night were hanging around in his peripheries. He actively focused on keeping them at bay.

“No, mind if I join you?” 

They padded down the hallway quietly, but every room was completely dark and silent. Kevin flipped the light to the kitchen on wordlessly and noticed the small note on the counter.

_Made dinner- didn’t want to wake you guys. Leftovers in the fridge._

He handed the note to Connor, who shrugged. No one in the house could cook, to his knowledge, but someone had tried. Or maybe they’d been faking all along.

Kevin opened the fridge and pulled out two covered bowls of soup, putting them into a pot on the stove. Connor came up next to him.

“Your parents called several times today," Connor said suddenly.

Kevin frowned. It wasn’t surprising. He hadn’t been emailing them, he hadn’t been calling them. At this point, they may have received a hospital bill, and he’d known that he needed to give them a head’s up, but his relationship with his parents was… complicated. And he didn’t want to put this on their doorstep. Still, it had been careless not to at least let them know about the bill.

“The mission president spoke with them. I’m not sure what exactly he told them, but before he left, he said it was really important that you call them. I’m not sure if that’s true or not, but I told him I’d pass it along.”

Kevin tested his shoulders, stretching his muscles, as he stirred the soup, trying to keep his focus on the conversation and away from the flashes of laughter. “He’s probably right,” he said. “I can… I can call them in the morning.”

They ate mostly in silence, standing over the counter. Kevin ate quickly, hungrier than he could remember being in a long time. He finished before Connor was even halfway done. 

“Here,” Connor said, offering up the remainder of his. “You should eat.”

Kevin rolled his eyes and pushed the bowl back. “I appreciate it,” he said, “but I’m okay. I think I should let my stomach settle; if I’m still hungry I’ll find something else later.” 

Connor smiled and set his soup aside. 

✥ ✥ ✥

They sat on the ledge of the porch; the night was warm but the air felt surprisingly refreshing. Kevin settled himself against one of the columns, closing his eyes briefly. The onslaught of memories were an assault on their own, over and over pushing against reality. 

“Kevin,” Connor finally said, and he opened his eyes. “Can we… just talk for a minute? About… about things.” Kevin watched Connor carefully. “Just tell me if you need me to stop, okay? If you need me to let it go, I will.”

Kevin nodded.

“When I- When I heard you screaming, from the other side of the market. It’s just-” He took a breath. “You don’t have to talk to me, if you don’t want to. Or if you’re not ready to. But all I could think about, all I could… I just didn’t want you to be alone. I just need you to know that you’re not alone, and that you’re safe. And I need to know that you’re okay.” Connor paused. “Are you... okay? Really okay.”

Kevin smiled, rubbing one arm absently, unable to stop his body from shivering. He knew that the shivering made Connor nervous. It wasn’t cold out, but he felt like it was probably a physical manifestation of the undercurrent of anxiety that just would not let up on him. “That’s a loaded question.” 

Connor took a big breath. Kevin could see the war behind his eyes: balancing not pushing him into something he didn’t want to talk about making sure that he knew he was listening. And he did. He knew that, and… 

In the end, Connor didn’t need to do either.

“I’m sorry,” Kevin said suddenly, and Connor shot him a disparaging look. It made him smile despite the knots his stomach was turning itself into. “I just- I’m not that good at… talking about myself, I guess. Talking about _real_ things.”

Connor squeezed his fingers.

“When I was a kid my mom would always… she would listen and,” he gestured with his hands, trying to get his point across. “She would encourage me to… I don’t know, to talk about my feelings, or just to… to _talk_. But it’s never really come naturally to me.”

Connor laughed. “Well,” he said. “Your mom sounds like someone I could get along with.”

“Yes,” Kevin replied, “I think you would.” Several times then, he opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. 

“Talk to me,” Connor finally prompted, desperation in his voice. The tremors continued running through Kevin’s hands. Kevin tried to stop them from shaking, but it was futile.

He felt the familiar pounding in his chest, and he took a breath. “Okay.” He could do this; he would just... take it slow. He knew that his body had been through absolute hell once today, and so far he hadn’t… he’d focused so hard on keeping the memories back. It was this thing that he clung to and that he locked up so tight and, would opening that door do more damage than it could possibly do good? Or maybe, in some universe, releasing it… maybe it would be liberating. He _wanted_ to tell Connor. He was almost sure he did. He trusted Connor, and he… he knew that if he could tell anyone, it was Connor.

Looking into Connor’s eyes, and feeling his fingers on his, he thought this _must_ be right. That maybe he had it wrong, and maybe Connor had been put into his life for a reason, and maybe it was God’s way of telling him that, while he didn’t forgive him, he still loved him. And so he'd do this. He could do this.

Images of the past crossed over his mind before he even spoke. It was an abrupt attack, the doors which he’d locked so tight burst open, his body immediately reacting to the memories, the color draining from his skin, the world spinning slightly. “I went there, that day, to the General’s camp,” he whispered, feeling the familiar sting of tears in his eyes. The memories pounded at the walls of his mind and he just... he did his best to just focus on Connor’s face. To focus on the feeling of Connor’s hands wrapped around his own. On breathing. “I just… I don’t know. I felt like I was letting God down, and then there was a chance for me to _fix_ some of it. To maybe just… for him to forgive me, if I could do this thing. I went to his camp to try to… I don’t know, convert him. Help him see the light. I thought that maybe that was my purpose in all this. Arnold had just- had gotten the villagers to listen, and I had been _such a failure_ at this thing that, until then, my entire life had built up to.”

“I,” Kevin continued, grinding his teeth together briefly. Try to keep the tears from falling. He felt the squeeze of fingers, the gentle reminder that he wasn’t alone. “It was quick. They, um…” He took a moment, just counting his breaths. Memory after memory after memory. Hands on his stomach, hands in his hair. And he felt the tears on his cheeks and he couldn’t… he couldn’t continue this, could he?

But Connor was there, and he wasn’t alone, and maybe it would help. And he wanted, more than anything, for Connor to know. Now that he’d started, there wasn’t any doubt in his mind that this was what he wanted.

So he took another breath. He ran his free hand over his stomach, those little dinosaurs looking back at him, and his breathing was an anxious pattern of too deep intermixed with too shallow and he could control none of it, but he continued. Not because Connor was there, expecting him to. But because once he started, it just poured out of him. 

“They… they used my b-book,” he said. Only a whisper. The tears ran down his cheeks as he choked over his words. Every passing moment harder and harder to control himself. Every word harder and harder to find.

“Buddy,” Connor said, raising his hand to Kevin’s cheek, wiping away his tears. “If you need to stop, it’s okay.”

He nodded, a new wave of tears wet on his cheeks. “I mean, you know. What he did to me,” he rubbed his stomach as he gasped in breaths, the pain fresh in his mind, the sharp edge of the table breaking his stomach inside and out. The crack of his ribs, the crack of his head on the table. But the fingers wrapped around his kept him grounded. Still, he knew that he was falling apart. He could taste the salt of his tears on his lips and he could feel his breathing becoming less predictable. 

“When he finished, I was… I couldn’t see, or hear or… I just know I was being dragged through the camp, and I thought _this is it_.” He looked at the sky. The same sky he’d spent countless hours looking at with love, but now with something different. “I thought it was the end for me, and all I could think about was how badly I’d let God down. And I just prayed. For God to forgive me. How fucked up is that?”

Connor shifted closer, so he was sitting next to Kevin, and squeezed his fingers tighter still. “It’s pretty fucked up,” he whispered, wiping a tear from his own face. There was silence, while Kevin gathered his thoughts. It was Connor who eventually spoke. “Kevin,” he said. And Kevin, through all the tears, tried to look at Connor. “I just- I don’t know if you know this, or if me saying it even helps… but I need you to hear it from me.” He took a deep breath. “It wasn’t your fault. None of this was _your_ fault. I know you have- a tense relationship with God. But there isn’t… there is _no chance_ that God blames you for anything that happened to you.”

His cries intensified, still quiet but pouring out of his body uncontrollably now. Connor held his hands tight, inching closer, and with his free hand, rubbed his back.

“I’m sorry,” Kevin eventually said, his words disjointed. “The Gen-General just… threw me out of the car as he drove by, I guess. And that’s where you found me.” He raised his hand and wiped the tears from his jaw as his body involuntarily shivered. 

“I think I need to stop,” he finally said, his voice a whisper, and the tears just falling and falling without pause.

Connor nodded and pulled him to his chest, wrapping his arms around him. “Okay,” he whispered, pressing his lips against Kevin’s forehead. “Okay.” 

He held him like that, both of them watching the moon, hearing the crickets, and processing the weight of the last two weeks.

“I still want to stay,” Kevin eventually said, running his hands absently over his cheeks, wiping away the remaining tears. His breaths still came choppily, his shoulder still shook. “I just- I guess it’s just going to be… hard. Maybe for a while.” Maybe forever, his mind supplied, but he didn’t say it. He had to believe that God was out there somewhere, and somehow, he’d eventually forgive him. And he’d eventually help him get through this.

But even if God never forgave him, and never helped him through this, Kevin knew that Connor McKinley would. And maybe that was enough.


End file.
